


The Roost

by Ugglabarn



Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: 1890's-1900, Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Industrial Revolution, Angst, F/M, M/M, Multi, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-03-02
Updated: 2018-02-15
Packaged: 2018-05-24 06:12:27
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 191,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6144124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ugglabarn/pseuds/Ugglabarn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Amidst the smog and winding streets lies The Roost, an entertainments venue and safe haven for those victimised by the times... </p><p>Otherwise mistaken for a brothel by one not so bright individual.</p><p>Next update: May/June '18</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Smog

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you very much for reading, this mash of history-meets-circus will be a slow burner, with many more characters and pairings to be added as the story progresses. All characters are older than canon, Kuroo and Bokuto being 24. Please refer to end notes for further details.
> 
> FYI author is British, not American. The story (albeit set in a make up city) is loosely based on the second wave of the British industrial revolution and the introduction of Japonism to Europe.

Smoke.

 

Plumes of grey and black as far as the eye can see.

 

 Scraped from fiery belly of hell itself, those ash-ridden, monstrous, bird-like forms would claw their way to the skies above, throttling the tranquil wash of oranges and blues. Their calls of rattling chains and the dull, aching metal gears pounding through the brickwork like a pulse through the heart of the city.  

 It was the turn of the century, and those smouldering fowls served as an ominous reminder of the times; the second industrial revolution was well under way.

“A terrifying sight, isn’t it…?”

With each cautious footstep the floorboards groaned, waning under the slightest of pressure.

“To think we hail those clouds as signs of progress, of the future… I think I’d rather have lived in the past, myself. At least there, we could appreciate the sunset.”

“Kuroo…”

 Golden eyes became slits, gazing beyond the glass of the window, through the brickwork, the cranes and the stifling smog as if searching… longing for that optimistic tomorrow. 

“Kuroo, we’re in a lot of trouble… aren’t we?” 

Absorbed in the moment, the man in question diverted his stare to a small writing desk close by.

 There, hunched over the dusty, stained woodwork was a figure, someone who had become a valuable companion in such a short space of time. Dual coloured hair hung about his face, a smudge of dirt on one cheek trailing towards the slight stubble that began accent his jawline. There was a tired haze dulling his usual bold expression, a state that had lingered over the past few days like a heavy veil.

“You know the answer to that, Bokuto.”

 Their meeting had been an accident, miraculous even.

 

 Roughly one year ago, Bokuto commenced work for a café in the outskirts of the city, Kuroo’s regular haunt, in fact. Already isolated due to their differing appearances, they bonded over a coffee or several, amongst many other details.

 Born in the very same hometown, they discovered one afternoon, both men had fled their comfortable homes in the Eastern world to travel west, chasing the same dream as many before them.

 Thanks to the rise in popularity overseas of their native art forms, eastern folk were being welcomed to the west with open arms. They reaped benefits from the increase of employment, technology and business prospects alike. Yes, everything pointed onward to a distant, yet promising future.

Alas, for these two men, something had hit a very rocky turn.

 “The landlord caught me just as I was on my way out this morning.” Kuroo initiated, heaving a chair to the desk before descending upon it with an almighty thump. “He’s… Well…” His attention drifted to the light puff of dust conjured just then, observing the tiny particles that swirled and scattered.

Bokuto didn’t feel like wasting time on idle chatter.

“He wants us out, doesn’t he?”

Resting an arm against the desk, Kuroo reclined in his seat. “Not just yet. We got one last warning.”

A fist clenched instantaneously, Bokuto whirling his head away in shame. “I’m sorry, this is my-”

“It’s not your fault. Losing your job… that was unfair dismissal and you know it. I’d happily march down to that bastard’s office and report it if it weren’t for the fact that-”

“We’re foreigners and they wouldn’t take us seriously?” Came the bitter, steel laced response.

“Yeah, that.” Kuroo surrendered with a hefty exhale, casting another delicate flurry of dust to the air when his palm hit the desk. 

The western dream, painted so vividly back home, had been a massive overstatement riddled with discrimination.

By some stroke of luck Kuroo clung to a job as a freelance writer for a local newspaper, covering sports events and some smaller pieces from time to time.

The big jobs however… Those were reserved for the natives alone.

 Kuroo’s flair for writing, which surpassed most of his colleagues by far, had trodden on too many toes, and that was absolutely, explicitly frowned upon by the powers above. All his ambitions for scripts, novels, productions even, dashed by wealthy bigots who merely had to whisper in the right peoples’ ears, and he would lose his job too.

Now even, seeing his friend so distraught before him, Kuroo began to question the point of it all.

“Bo… we’re going to find a way out of this mess, I promise.”

 

 All his worries aside, Bokuto maintained a shred of belief. Uncurling his fist he examined his palm, grimy too from his shift in the factory close by. It was the only thing he had received from that wretched place before being sacked, and naturally, it was worthless.

“The only thing we’re close to leaving is this place.” Bokuto conceded, gesturing with his head to the space about them, causing the floorboards to complain once more at the slight shift of weight when he turned. “I can’t say I’ll miss it though.”

“Me neither.” Chuckling softly, Kuroo let his head roll back. “No wonder it was so cheap.”

 Their humble abode, for anyone curious, was naught but a criminal excuse for a home. Why, Kuroo was certain there were certain laws in place that stated they could not live in such squalor. Regrettably, this was yet another nasty surprise tacked onto the western dream of theirs. A dishevelled apartment with but one bedroom, bathroom and a below average studio space to call their own…

 _Fifteen, sixteen…_ Bored.

 The wall, littered with scrapes and flecks of paint coming away, was in progress of exposing the rotting wood underneath. How many there were exactly… Kuroo had yet to conclude. It was a truly tiresome endeavour indeed. “So… what did you get up to today?”

 Bokuto shifted awkwardly all of a sudden, finding the swirling fumes outside more comforting in that moment. “Not much besides feel sorry for myself.” He gave a hollow, disturbing laugh. “I went for a walk. Considered my options… There’s another factory across the city that’s looking for people.”

“Bo, no. Don’t keep doing that to yourself.” The tone of Kuroo’s voice strained with desperation and an underlying fear. “Those places make hell seem pleasant. Children are roped into those nightmares, caught up in machines and- and… I’ve heard the stories. I can barely imagine what someone… someone like _us_ must endure in that environment.”

“What choice do I have?!” Snapping under the pressure, Bokuto slapped a hand to the desk. “I’m not like _you_ , I can’t write interesting things… Can’t create anything of worth… No, the only thing I have going for me is the fact I can lift a ton of stuff. Don’t get me started on the language barrier in those places, either…”

 Shaking his head softly in disbelief, Kuroo rubbed at his face with a palm, feeling his skin prickle and fold under the touch. “So what… I’m supposed to continue seeing you like this? Coming home late at night, if not absent for _days_ , only to return covered in bruises and all manner of injuries?!”

“It’s a part of the job.”

“You’re a damn liar!!” Kuroo launched up from his seat, causing the chair to propel backwards with a loud scrape, an anguished cry amidst their heated conversation. “What about that scar of yours, the one on your-”

“Kuroo, _don’t._ I told you I’m not talking about that.”

“They beat you, didn’t they?! Just say it!!”

 

Violently his words struck a nerve, convicting Bokuto to silence.

 

“What does it even matter anymore…? It’s not like I can report it.” Distraught, Bokuto gradually made to stare upwards, filling his companion with dread. “Unless, pray tell, you’ve got some miracle plan hidden up your sleeve, I have no choice. I gotta’ go back in one of those places until we can afford a better lifestyle.”

The air became thick in that instant, Kuroo straining to inhale. “Bo… Please, just don’t-”

 “I picked up the post this morning.”

 Closing that gruelling chapter with a dense, sinking breath, Bokuto leant across to the windowsill, retrieving a small bundle of papers tied together with string. The parcel was tossed to the desk with a light thump that resounded in the stifling atmosphere.

 Seeing no room to probe further Kuroo returned to his side, having retrieved his chair from across the room. Bokuto was never the sort to dwell upon or discuss his issues for long, after all.

“… Thanks.”

 With a light tug the string loosened, scattering envelopes across the desk as Kuroo hummed absent-mindedly. Briefly their glances met, Bokuto giving a half-hearted shrug in an attempt to lighten the mood. “Wanna’ bet on what they are?”

“What, with our imaginary money at stake?” Scoffing, Kuroo plucked up the first envelope between two fingers, turning it slowly. “This one already looks promising.”

“Really…?”

“No.” Kuroo shot his companion’s momentum down entirely, a fingertip highlighting the wax seal on the back. “This is from the local office. No doubt they want some money from us, or information.”

“Great. Perhaps I could tell them about the pet rat we once had up here.” Bokuto laughed heartily whilst folding his arms over his chest.

An eyebrow arched. “The one that died somewhere in the pipes and stunk the place out for a week?”

“Yeah, I miss him sometimes.”

 Worryingly, there was a strain of fondness in Bokuto’s voice, one which set Kuroo into a state of dismay. It was high time he introduced the poor sod to a hobby, well, one beyond his constant weight lifting and whatever other muscle related goings on that he frequently obsessed over. (Need he recall the awful moment Bokuto almost tore their ceiling down when he attempted some lifts on the beams above? How on earth he escaped the landlord’s wrath for that mishap was beyond anybody.)

“Ok well screw that one.” Bokuto interrupted, snatching the envelope and tossing it skilfully into the fireplace with a sheer flick of his wrist. “Consider it fuel for later.”

 _Impressive._ Kuroo mused to himself having witnessed the throw. _To think he deems himself talentless._

 

“This one… is also no good.” Handing over each letter in turn Kuroo recognised, with a passing smile, the increase in enthusiasm from his friend as he promptly cast the dooming messages to the ‘combust later’ pile. Sadness never suited him. Or anyone for that matter.

 Spying a particularly thick envelope within the remaining bunch, Bokuto perked up further and made to grab it. “Perfect, this one will burn really-!”

“Ah no, not this one. Sorry.” Speaking with hushed affection Kuroo held the post close to his chest. “This one is personal.”

“Your friend again…? No problem.” Leaving his spot at the desk Bokuto paced towards some bottles in the nearby cabinet, tugging the door open with an ugly screech. Thankful for the quiet act of respect, (not so much for the hideous sounds however) Kuroo carefully pried the envelope apart.

“Aw shit, we’re out of drink.”

“Of course.”

 Curiously, the envelope contained yet another packet, albeit somewhat smaller in size. “Strange…” Casting the item aside for later reference, he concentrated instead upon the letter deftly folded and tucked inside the package.

 

_Tetsurou,_

_I hope this letter finds you well…_

 

“Oi bro, you haven’t got a secret stash of alcohol at all, have you?”

“No. You asked me that yesterday.” Kuroo pressed, eyes narrowing slowly whilst he read the contents of the note. “To which I distinctly recall our discussion on how alcohol is not the sole answer to life’s problems.”

“Hmn… I did? Funny.” With another thump and rattle of glass Bokuto shut the cabinet door, stomping about the apartment in search for some entertainment. “That does mean it can solve _some_ of life’s problems, right…?”

“Ssh.”

 Reeling his eyes back Bokuto descended to the floor with an almighty boom, proceeding to carry out some push ups. Exercise always helped him pass the time.

  

_I read the work you sent in your last response. The article was thought-provoking, I give it that much, but I can’t help feel you were restrained, somehow. Do you enjoy writing such texts?_

_No matter. I’m certain you would try to convince me otherwise, regardless of opinion._

 

“Brutally honest, as always…” Kuroo’s mind wandered far whilst he read the letter. Away from the pollution, chaos and deceit, further even from their apartment, Bokuto’s laboured breaths becoming ghost-like amongst his thoughts.

 

_I spoke with my boss the night before last, to discuss business, for the most part. Our home is lacking in material, and I feel it to be in all our interests that you might contribute in the near future._

“Wait, is this…?” Golden eyes darted back and forth across the page, hand clenching the paper tight. A remarkable pounding against his ribs alerted him to his increased heartbeat, emotions… excitement.

 

_I have proposed this to you on many occasions, and I assure you I am serious. One can only endure so much, and it fills me with dread to imagine the situation you and your friend have found yourselves in. Please refer to the enclosed package for further details, and I look forward to seeing you soon_ _._

_-Kenma_

 

 Fumbling now, Kuroo grasped at the smaller envelope to tear it open, eyes widening absurdly at the notes which fell out, spilling across the desk.

“Bo…”

 “W-What?” The man in question piped up, panting when he pushed his body further, a light sheen of sweat forming over exposed skin and highlighting each muscle brilliantly.

 “Bo, _get up_.”

  Kuroo found himself at a loss for words, reading once, twice… three times the smaller message within the package. Reluctantly Bokuto complied in the meantime, a strangled intake of air sounding when he spotted the money scattered about the desk. “Kuroo what the hell is-”

“This… this is _it_.” Scrambling for something, any form of vocabulary Kuroo swallowed, clutching a single slip of paper which he soon brandished for Bokuto to read. “This is our moment! Look, see? My friend, Kenma? He works at some place in the capital city, and he’s offered me a job!”

 Needless to say, it was taking a great deal of effort for either individual to process this new turn of events, both leaning in over the wad of cash. “Then what’s this…? Payment in advance?” Bokuto pondered, earning a simple shake of a head in response.

“Transport costs.” Kuroo replied, positively beaming as he collected up the funds, swiftly tucking them back in their envelope alongside the message. “We’re moving to the capital.”

“W-What…? When?!” Bokuto’s voice trailed off elsewhere as he left the desk, footsteps near on inaudible. For a moment Kuroo’s focus drifted to the small clock above the fireplace, contemplating the matter.

“I doubt there’ll be a train tonight… so, tomorrow first thing. Yeah, that’ll do.”

 _“Tomorrow?!”_ A loud thud indicated Bokuto’s new location to be somewhere in the bathroom. “C-Can we do that? Leave so soon I mean?”

“We don’t have a choice!” Making a brisk walk to lurk in the bathroom doorway, Kuroo stared with a fierce intensity, observing Bokuto hunched over the sink attempting to wash his face. “Tomorrow could be the day we get thrown out of this hellish apartment, tomorrow could be the day you’re dragged into some factory… tomorrow _might_ just be the day _I_ lose my job!” Inhaling sharply, he continued. “Look around, we have barely anything to call our own. So… at the very least let’s grab this chance whilst we can, and potentially make tomorrow the day we do something decent with our lives.”

 

Once… twice… Bokuto blinked before squinting, scattering water droplets when he flicked both hands wildly. “That was incredibly poetic. Have you ever considered getting a job as a writer?”

 “Hilarious.” Kuroo retorted, turning on his heel to set the bundle away in the safety of his bag. “Now get yourself cleaned up and packed, I’m not dragging your filthy arse to my future boss looking like you’ve been living in a chimney.”

“I’m in the middle of doing so, _mother._ ” Came the sarcastic response, Bokuto retrieving a blade out of the small cabinet beside him to tame that line of stubble. “Why don’t you pick my outfits for me whilst you’re at it?”

 “I think you will be better off borrowing some of my clothes, now that you mention it.” Kuroo started, examining the contents of their wardrobe before plucking out a simple dark red waistcoat hung amongst a variety of white (sometimes grey) shirts. Truly, they had very few possessions.

 

 _For now_ , he half hoped, drifting off amidst the sudden wave of anticipation. Making every mental note possible to thank Kenma for this opportunity, he took solace in dreaming of the events to come. Already, the sensation of promise was making itself known, instilling him with a great deal of faith he thought impossible for the past however many years.

 The hissed curse from nearby conjured a hearty laugh, tugging him away from the significant issue of just how he could possibly repay his friend for such kindness.

 

“Did you cut yourself whilst shaving, again?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading, check out my tumblr ugglabarn for Haikyuu!! art.
> 
> Roost playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_zFnOcZUM1ivezpUxQtVadJjed3ju152
> 
> Note: Neither the story nor the characters are strictly canon compliant. Names and appearances have been kept the same, but please be aware that ooc behaviour is likely part of the story and probably explained at a later point.


	2. Steam

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks as ever for reading, this chapter is a bit longer than the first, and should hopefully begin to set things in place. As always I don't own Haikyuu!! or any of it's characters.

“Run, run, _run already!”_

“I _am_ , you nag!!”

During the buzz of the morning air, soft white and grey smoke spiralled high before fading amongst the fuss of the bustling crowds. Along the train platform below two sets of footsteps slapped the ground in a flurry, dashing towards their destination.

_“ALL ABOARD!!”_

  In that moment of haste Bokuto found the white clouds comforting, a far cry from the suffocating smoke of the day before. Yet with a final sharp whistle the situation became clear. Those great white plumes were not smoke, but steam, and a reminder of how technology continued to advance around them.

“Almost there!”

With seconds to spare the two men hurled themselves onto their train, landing unceremoniously in a heap of tangled limbs. Both men mumbled and swore beneath their breaths as they wriggled to get free, and when his patience was at an end Kuroo decided to give Bokuto a quick shove, watching him roll further down the walkway.

"Charming! What did I do to deserve that?" 

“You almost made us miss our train.”

“We got here in the end, didn’t we?” Bokuto whined as he scrambled to his feet, then offered Kuroo a hand up. “Now then, where’s our seats?”

“Our seats…? Bo what do you think we are, royalty or something?"

"They must be somewhere." Bokuto replied, shrugging. "Did you book them?"

"Of course not. We gotta’ find a place to sit like the rest of the common folk.” Kuroo snickered. He threw his bag over his shoulder with another laugh and begun to pace down the carriage, passing the booths already occupied. Beneath their feet the train started to rumble, and with a jerk it took off from the platform, and rolled out of the station.

The way the entire carriage rattled and quivered was concerning, but Kuroo was grateful for the transport nonetheless. It was much better than horse and carriage, and certainly more appealing than the thought of walking. On that note Kuroo remembered one article he read last sunday afternoon, which reported talks of using electricity and maybe even diesel to power future trains. The very idea was beyond him, but it was exciting to learn that technology was developing so fast, whether one liked trains or not.

Bokuto for the record had no interest in technology whatsoever, but rather the development of the young women aboard their train. As they passed the window of each booth his eyes scanned the area fast, and then he grinned. “Psst Kuroo, that one has a cute looking girl in it. Can we-?”

“Restrain yourself.”

“… I’ll take that as a no then.” Bokuto accepted with a pang of dismay when they passed a few more compartments, each with rather lovely looking specimens inside.

 

 “Aha, here we are!”

Wrenching the slim metal handle up, Kuroo opened the door to an empty stall. Long cushioned seats of a deep green were stretched along either side, leading to a window on the far end wall. “No one about too, how lucky.”

 Without another word he removed his bag and threw it up onto the rack above the seats, Bokuto following suit on the opposite side. “Okay, so how long is the journey?”

“A couple of hours, give or take.” Kuroo speculated, shrugging whilst he hung his coat on a small hook beside the window. He slipped a hand down the inner pocket not long after, retrieving from it Kenma’s letter. He then made himself comfortable on the seat, and carefully unfolded the letter. Bokuto planted his arse on the opposite seat meanwhile, gawking at their surroundings.

“This still feels surreal.” He commented, casting his attention to the scenery outside. “I mean… no disrespect to your friend, but is this it? Do you think things will get better from here on out?”

It was around that point, he realised, that the air thickened. Kuroo’s eyes were slits, focused upon the paper in his hand.

“Kenma isn’t stupid. If there was any chance this move would worsen our living conditions, he’d never have suggested it.” A light crumple sounded, Kuroo clenching the sheet slightly whilst chewing on his lower lip. “He’s…”

“Special to you, huh?”

“Yeah.”

Bokuto smirked, stretched out along the bench and folded his arms behind his head. “Lucky. Wish I had someone like that.”

 For a moment Kuroo lifted his gaze to observe Bokuto, silent all the while. He wasn't one to boast, but he felt he’d done a marvellous job at brushing Bokuto up, dressing him in a pair of grey trousers, clean white shirt and matching dark grey wool jacket over the top. With a bit of persuasion he’d even gotten Bokuto to buff and shine his shoes, so overall he was looking pretty decent. Presentable, to say the least.

“I’m sure we can set you up." Kuroo said at last. "Got any preferences?”

 “No. Either gender is fine, really. I just want someone who’s willing to put up with me, more than anything.” Bokuto's chest bobbed when he laughed, and he turned his eyes towards the ceiling in thought. “Of course good looks are always a plus, but that’s not what’s important, right?”

Kuroo shook his head. “I agree, but from that description alone I’d say you’ve set your standards pretty high.”

“There might be someone!” Bokuto remarked with a huff. When he quickly moved to sit beside the window, folded his arms and puffed up his cheeks, Kuroo remembered that he was not in the company of sensible adult. Nevertheless Kuroo knew his protest would only last so long, and returned his focus to the letter as he waited for Bokuto's sulking to end. 

The first step to ending Bokuto's tantrum was to ignore him, ironically. Then one had to listen for the signs, the soft and defeated mumbling.  

“Mnngh…”

Kuroo smiled to himself, but still would not give in. Not even when Bokuto uttered his name, and fidgeted on the spot.

"Oi..."

"The weather is good today-"

"I don't care about that!"

 A slap of skin hitting glass could be heard, and when Kuroo raised his eyes he saw a flustered Bokuto pressed to the window, his cheek squashed hard and golden eyes almost bulging out of their sockets.

“Oh hey, didn’t see you there.”

“Don’t start that game with me. We need to talk!”

“Not about this future partner of yours, I hope?” Kuroo groaned, reluctant to pursue the topic. With that said he tucked the letter in his trouser pocket, laid down on his own bench and closed his eyes. “Sit down and dream about them quietly.”

“Hey, hey, hey! _Not so fast_!” Within seconds Bokuto was kneeling on the floor close to his head, tugging one of Kuroo's eyelids open. “Why’re you so determined that I won’t be able to get someone? For all we know I might be incredibly popular in this new place.”

“Yeah, to those who don’t care for their eardrums or sanity.” Kuroo scoffed, knocking Bokuto's hand away. “Now leave me alone, I didn’t sleep much last night.”

“Argh c’mon, I just want to talk."

"And I don't."

"At least tell me more about your job!” Bokuto insisted, then hung his head. Oddly enough, his final demand inspired a sense of curiosity in Kuroo, who slowly opened his eyes with a hefty sigh.

“What d’you want to know about it?”

“Anything.” Bokuto’s eyes temporarily met the letter still clutched in Kuroo’s hand. “I don’t know much besides the fact we’re going to a capital, whatever it is.”

“You don’t know about Vol? The capital city?”

Bokuto's eyebrows knitted together tight. “Of course not. Where’d you hear about it?”

“Some people in my office spoke about moving there themselves. It’s supposed to be rather nice, as far as places go, anyway.” Kuroo replied, sitting up. With a hand he gestured for Bokuto to return to his own bench, the two men getting comfy with gentle smiles.

“That’s a good start, I guess. Funny name though.” Bokuto mused, suddenly distracted when something rushed by the window. By that point in time they were far away from the miserable patch of land they called home, and were trailing through vast, lush fields.

“Vol means ‘flight’.” Kuroo informed, reaching for another sheet of paper from his coat pocket. Upon opening it he leant forward, motioning for Bokuto to lean in as well. “Kenma gave me a map along with the letter. This here’s the station we’ll arrive at.” Gently he tapped a finger to the top of the map and trailed his finger downwards. “The northern part of the city is populated by the rich folk. So obviously that’s not where we’re headed. We need to cross the river down to the south, near the harbour.”

“I see... to that really busy looking part?”

“Mm.” Kuroo nodded, then glanced downwards at the numerous streets and walkways labelled in one corner. “The place we want is called The Maze, quite unoriginal if you ask me.”

“It’s to the point. I like it.” Bokuto laughed. “So do a lot of poor people live there, or?”

“Not necessarily. It’s a creative district from what Kenma’s told me. Plenty of cafes and bars... and right in the middle there, that's The Roost."

 It went without saying, Bokuto was delighted. Unable to still himself he studied the map intensely, following the intricate pattern of paths. “Incredible! Though I meant to ask yesterday, what does this new place of yours do, exactly?”

“Um…”

 Kuroo's response was completely out of character. First of all he twitched, and then his gaze darted elsewhere. “Well, I’ll be writing stuff for them, so…”

Bokuto encouraged him to go on. “That means it’s a publishing house, right? An office of sorts…?”

“No…”

Bokuto's stare hardened with each suspicious answer. “Kuroo… what about our home? Where are we moving to?”

“The Maze, obviously!” Kuroo laughed nervously.

“Yes, but _where?_ ”

Kuroo said nothing, and chewed at his lower lip.

“You have no idea what this place is, do you?” Golden eyes became slits when Bokuto put the pressure on, relishing in the rare, nervous habits Kuroo produced.

“Don’t be ridiculous Bo, of _course_ I know-”

“ _You don’t_!” With a booming laugh Bokuto rose to his feet, outstretching his arms. “Incredible! To think I’d witness the day the brilliantly wise, cunning, Kuroo Tetsurou has no clue what he’s doing!”

“Hey, I do know that much!” Kuroo’s glare bore down upon Bokuto when he got up as well. “Kenma wouldn’t lead us into trou-”

“I know, _I know already._ ” Bokuto beamed, already calm no sooner had the outburst begun. “Make no mistake. I trust this, I trust you, and I trust your friend… I just wanted a moment to feel cool.”

"Prick." Kuroo grumbled, and slumped back on his seat. It was only then that Bokuto properly acknowledged his appearance. The messier state of his hair than usual, the dark circles beneath his eyes, and his shoulders which sagged under every heavy breath.

“Hey, bro…” Quietly Bokuto returned to his place, strangely composed when he spoke. “Get some rest, hm? You said you didn’t sleep much right?”

“Nah, I’ll be alright.”

“ _Kuroo, sleep._ ” Bokuto pressed, nudging his shoulder to make him lie down. “I’ll wake you up when we pull into Vol, promise.”

"But I don't want to."

Bokuto rolled his eyes, and draped Kuroo's coat over him as a makeshift blanket. "You can't go meetin' your new boss in such a tired state. You look awful."

“Yes mother.” Kuroo teased, shifting about until comfortable. With that settled he succumbed to the sleep pulling at his eyelids, listening to the train clattering along, and gently rocking his body side to side. Amidst the calm atmosphere he thought about his job, and whether their move was too big a risk, but when he pictured his angry, red faced boss it felt so real, so wonderful.

Kuroo had no regrets whatsoever, and let that thought carry him into a pleasant, much needed slumber.

 

 

"Oi, time to get up!!"

 The sleep ended no sooner had it begun, leaving Kuroo rasping for air. Whilst it was kind of Bokuto to wake him up, he would have preferred for it to be done in a dignified manner. Anything besides bellowing in his ear without a shred of restraint. Regardless of the terrible awakening Kuroo thought it best to be polite, muttering a thanks before he caught sight of Bokuto, and his face dropped altogether.

Everything was going so well until that very minute. They had left their old city behind, Kuroo's job was dead to him, and just when he thought nothing could go wrong, Bokuto managed to surpass himself. In the time that Kuroo was asleep Bokuto had transformed his clean, well combed hair into a mass of spikes rising high upon his head, caked in a pungent smelling wax.

_“Bokuto, what the hell have you done to your hair?!”_

“You like it?” Bokuto declared, positively chuffed with his efforts. “This really nice couple came in for a bit when you were asleep, the man had some hair wax for his moustache and I got talking to him about how I used to style my hair… well, before I was too poor to buy wax anymore. Anyways, in the end he gave me a spare pot of his!”

Kuroo looked taken aback, hurling his coat off his body as he sat up. “You let people into our compartment?!”

"Well yeah, we're not royalty." Bokuto jeered, referencing their earlier conversation. Smirking hard he then stood up, and hurled his bag over his shoulder. "If it's any consolation your snoring put them off, so they didn't stay very long."

"Oh good." Kuroo grunted, shaking his head in disbelief. Despite his complaints he grabbed his belongings and shadowed Bokuto out of the carriage, struck by a wave of awe when they hopped out onto into the station shortly after.

“This is…”

“Vol, duh.” Bokuto finished bluntly, earning a quick whack to the back of his head.

“I knew that. Now come on. We’ve still got a ways to go before we reach home.” Kuroo interrupted, yanking at the sleeve of Bokuto’s jacket to usher him along. Home certainly had a nice ring to it. "Oh, and your hair's pretty alright. Even if it looks like you've been electrocuted."

“Perhaps I should tell people that’s what happened. Then I’ll look even cooler!”

“Don’t.” Kuroo deadpanned, tugging Bokuto out of the station. He kept a firm hold on his sleeve as they left, pulled Bokuto away from an incoming tram and waves of people passing by, and only released his grip when he thought they were safe.

"This is amazing." Bokuto declared, his head turning this way and that as he admired the city. "You seeing this?!"

“It’s really nice.”

“Is that _all_ you can say-?!” Bokuto exclaimed, peering round to get a look at Kuroo’s face. "Aren't you excited about this?"

“Of course. But I can't say I'm not nervous."

"That's understandable." Bokuto agreed, nudging him along. "But you gotta' pull it together, this is the start of our new, big adventure!"

"You're right." Kuroo accepted with a humble smile. "Let's go."

 

 For all the criticism Kuroo had given its title the Maze lived up to its name in full, confusing the newcomers despite having their map. The alleys stank of drink and soot, and when Kuroo walked right into a cloud of cigarette smoke he spluttered a cursed beneath his breath.

"This place...!!"

“Hey Kuroo," Bokuto piped up, coughing on the smoke, "we’re lost... Aren’t we?”

“Not lost.” Kuroo blurted, consumed by determination as he plodded on. For the sake of looking convincing he glanced at the map in his hand every now and then, and marched faster down the alleyway.

“I think we should ask for directions.” Bokuto declared, "That map of yours doesn't name any of the streets in the Maze, so what use is it?"

 "Shut up and enjoy the walk. As they say, it’s not the destination which matters, but the journey itself.”

“Don’t give me the writer rubbish. Admit your fault.”

“Not all who wander are lost.” Kuroo attempted once more, increasingly frustrated and reluctant to surrender for the second time that day. Not to Bokuto of all people. “Anyway, let’s keep- _ouch!!”_ Lurching forward and barely able to keep his footing, Kuroo reached a hand back to his rear, of which a certain someone had seen fit to kick amidst their conversation. “You bastard!”

“Takes one to know one!” Sniggering hard Bokuto skipped ahead, not getting too far before Kuroo was hot on his trail, attempting to kick him in return.

“Get back here!!”

 Hastily they went about their little play fight, causing a great deal of disruption when they shoved innocent bystanders aside, darting about the snaking streets at a fast pace. Thankfully Kuroo was an athletic sort in his own right, soon closing the gap between them. “Bokuto if you don’t stop I’ll shave your head in your sleep! I mean it!”

“Try it! I’ll only do the same to- _oof!!”_

Much to Kuroo’s dismay, his companion had hit an abrupt stop. One very big, intimidating white-haired stop around 190cm tall, presumably. Upon impact Bokuto was propelled to the floor with a cry in pain, but when he went to complain he stopped, staring at the man before him in sheer horror.

"S-Sorry..."

The man simply stared, causing Kuroo to gulp. He hadn't anticipated that Bokuto would get in trouble so soon.

"I wasn't looking where I was going." Bokuto continued, hoping to appease the figure above. When no response came again he began to laugh nervously, praying for his life until a man with short brown hair came and clapped the human barricade on the shoulder.

“Aone, be nice. I reckon it was a harmless accident.”

“Mn.” Following a courteous bow this Aone yanked Bokuto onto his feet with just one arm, and proceeded to pat him down with both hands. "Sorry."

"Don't be." Bokuto insisted, trying to brush Aone's hands away. "I ran into you, no harm done."

 “It’s both of our faults, we were careless.” Kuroo added, finally mustering the courage to get involved. Whilst Aone took that as a sign to leave Bokuto be the brown haired man snorted, and eyed them up and down. 

“Forget about it, you're obviously new to the area."

"You could tell?" Bokuto said, impressed.

"You stink of ignorant foreigner." The man mocked, then poked his tongue out. "Though it's nice to hear someone speaking our own language for once."

"Huh." Kuroo hummed in agreement. "You're both from the East as well?"

"Yup." Said the other man, outstretching his hand. “Name’s Futakuchi Kenji, this here is Aone Takanobu. Don’t mind his looks, he’s perfectly harmless.”

“Kuroo Tetsurou.” Out of politeness Kuroo firmly shook his hand, nodding his head in Bokuto’s direction shortly after. “And Bokuto Koutarou.”

 _“Aha!!”_ Futakuchi beamed, letting go of their hands now. “I thought the hair looked right from the description we got… You must be Kenma’s friend, right? About time you dragged your arse our way.”

“Come again…?” Kuroo was confused to say the least. Rather than leave him in the dark any longer Futakuchi gave a nod in Aone’s direction, then cleared his throat.

“Allow me to elaborate. Aone and I have been waiting for you to arrive for a good day or two now.”

“But why?”

“I thought they said you were clever..." With a grumble Futakuchi pointed to an elaborate doorway just behind them, endless swirls of ironwork adorning the exterior. "See that sign up above the doors?"

“The Roost!!” Kuroo exclaimed, reading the sign aloud.

 “Yeah, Aone and I are the security here. Together we’re the iron wall that keeps the dodgy sorts out of The Roost.” Somewhere in the background Bokuto was gawking and making weird sounds in excitement, becoming a distraction of sorts for them all. “Anyway, as much as I’d love to continue this conversation you’re needed, so follow us inside, quickly.”

 Kuroo didn't fancy annoying the doormen more than they already had, and walked to the door without protest. Nevertheless when he did a hand grabbed the back of his shirt and yanked him to the right.

“Not that entrance.” Futakuchi sighed, as if Kuroo had made such an obvious mistake. Beside him Aone occupied himself with a particular part of the ironwork surrounding the doors, squinting hard to find something, presumably. With an intense silence he scanned the intricate layers of vines and floral decorations intertwined with one another until he spotted a certain leaf, and gave it a push with his fingertips. After that he tugged on a vine curved like a backwards c, which acted as handle for the small door he revealed shortly after. 

"What the-" Bouto gawked.

“In, now.” Futakuchi pressed before either man had a chance to comment further. Aone beckoned the newcomers in with his hands, whilst Futakuchi stared over his shoulder each way, thankful to find the street empty at that point. Their shifty behaviour continued until all four were inside and the door heaved shut, casting them into darkness, and what felt to be a very slim corridor.

“This is cosy.” Bokuto chuckled from somewhere further down, Aone merely offering another grunt in reply. Somewhere close to the door Futakuchi fidgeted with a patch on the wall, and with a spark and a buzz the corridor became illuminated with tiny bulbs that stretched along the top of the walls either side.

“Get your arses moving ladies, straight ahead.” Futakuchi commanded, giving Kuroo a nudge between the shoulder blades. Up ahead Bokuto was cheery as always, stroking the plush red velvet walls with sounds of awe.

“This is great! Even if it does look kinda' racy...”

 Thankfully nobody humoured that observation, or perhaps Aone and Futakuchi had already come to the same conclusion themselves. The journey through the velvet walkway was brief, to say the least, consisting of one left turn before Futakuchi and Aone stopped in their tracks, waving to the pair further down.

"We need to be back outside keeping watch." Futakuchi explained. "See you later."

 Kuroo looked taken aback. “Wait where do we-?”

“Just follow the path, it’s very simple.” Futakuchi groaned, and promptly walked back in the other direction with Aone. As they disappeared back round the corner Bokuto and Kuroo realised just how well the material of the walls muffled their footsteps, and before thye knew it they were alone. Abandoned in the ominous, silent corridor.

“Well…” Bokuto started, shifting his weight to either foot. “This is it, I guess.”

 Try as he might to maintain his composure, Kuroo was equally tense. In the eerie atmosphere of the walkway the gravity of their situation became all too real, too sudden. It didn't mean that he was about to run back to the station, but it made him think unnecessarily hard, and worry for their safety. 

"Go slowly." Kuroo advised, grabbing Bokuto's sleeve when he made to walk on.

“Why..?” Bokuto asked.

“Something doesn’t feel right.” Kuroo uttered, jumping when the lights when out. Before Bokuto could let out a scream they burned bright once again, at which point a startled Kuroo gave him a shove, ushering him to move on. “Doesn’t it seem weird… that set up at the entrance, I mean? There’s way too much precaution here.”

“Noted.” Bokuto spoke, then took a deep breath. “What does it mean though?”

 For a moment Kuroo remained silent, the pair carefully continuing on through the walkway until they approached a door. Much like the walls it was covered with thick, cushiony velvet, and were it not for the small gold handle halfway down Kuroo would have thought they had been lured into a dead end. 

“It seems like they’re running a very tight set up here." Kuroo stated. "Like ‘the iron wall of the Roost’? What sort of place would need such measures? Just what’re they truly trying to keep out… or in?”

“Kuroo, I don’t like where this is headed.”

Kuroo shrugged. “Me neither, but think about it. Kenma’s letters have always been vague, he’s told me nothing of this place, and now he sends me a letter to come along? What if…? No, there’s only one way to find out.” The dread in his voice rung clear, both pairs of eyes meeting the door handle.

 With a pensive breath he mustered up all the courage possible to grasp the handle and push, the door giving way with a creak. It churned up a cloud of dust in the process, causing the pair to cough as they stepped through, then gaped at their new surroundings.

 From the looks of things they had emerged into a reasonable sized room, with crates, barrels, and furniture of various luxurious colours stacked right up to the wooden beams. On instinct Bokuto reached out to touch the nearest pile until Kuroo batted his hand away and coaxed him down the slim path through the middle of the room. Along their travels they stooped beneath a doorway, then came to another room, this time with various props, and piles of furs and leather skins to one side.

 “Why the hell would you need all this? It’s like a dumping ground.” Bokuto observed with little tact, and wrinkled his nose.

“It's a storage room, I imagine.” Kuroo cut in, remaining exceptionally wary of their surroundings. To his left he spotted rails of lacy, bright coloured clothing, the majority of which would barely cover one's modesty, and on the right were other garments of leather and fur.  A musty stench hung about the air, making them grimace when it became particularly pungent in the centre of the room.

“Kuroo, do you think maybe this is…?”

“What?” Kuroo already had his own suspicions, but another opinion was welcome.

"You know what I mean."

"I don't."

Bokuto shifted awkwardly, quickly following Kuroo out of the storage room and into another corridor. There the red velvet walls made a reappearance, leading to a wooden staircase and a strange orange glow from the floor above. All of the evidence so far was incredibly suspicious, and too much for Bokuto to accept quietly. 

“You _know_ what I mean. A place of the good old night time pleasures? Scantily clad women and all that?”

“A brothel..?” Ridiculous as it seemed, Kuroo wasn’t entirely dismissive of the idea. Kenma was a pretty sort.

“Maybe he’s been held here against his will?” Bokuto continued, alarmed with his own theory. When a bang echoed from the direction of the stairs they stilled, waiting for the noise to fade away before continuing. “Think about it, you said he wouldn’t explain where he is, right? So what if he's been captured and now he’s stuck here doing hell knows what-”

“Enough.” Kuroo really didn’t want to indulge such thoughts. “If that’s the case then we need to hurry, I can’t have him staying here-”

"I'm gonna' save him!"

"No! Wait!" Kuroo cried out, hurrying when Bokuto bolted towards the staircase. "We have to think this through!" 

“Kuroo, please." Bokuto halted mid step, and shot Kuroo a disapproving glare. "If we’re onto something here then Kenma isn’t the only one we have to think about. I suggest we get to wherever he's being held, kick some arse and free the lot of them.”

"That's rash."

“I can see it now…” Bokuto resumed, eyes almost shut with the way he was frowning. “So many beautiful people trapped inside the iron walls of The Roost, a dreadful place ruled over by an evil man…”

“It could be a woman.” Kuroo spoke up, deeming it necessary to contribute to this wild assumption somehow. A wild assumption that was becoming increasingly rational, dare he say it.

“Nah, it's gotta' be a man. A tall, vile creature with bad teeth and breath which looms over its prey like ‘graaaargh!” Kuroo merely rolled his eyes whilst Bokuto acted out this person he had just created. “The demon lord of The Roost, who snatches up pretty things and locks them away to manipulate and display for financial gain!”

 A sudden ripple of laughter sounded.

 

Much to their dismay the laugh came from neither Kuroo nor Bokuto, and caused the former to swallow a lump in his throat. Soon enough a set of footsteps from behind them, after which a man appeared as if out of nowhere. Not that it helped the matter, but Kuroo was intrigued to notice that he was roughly their height. Somewhat tan, with standard short dark hair and an expression of calm, yet rage.

“You’ve got the imagination of writers, true enough.” The man announced, then took Kuroo's hand in a vice-like grip. It wasn't certain whether he planned to shake it or crush Kuroo's fingers, but he kept his hold firm nonetheless, smiling whilst Bokuto withdrew in fear. "Judging by your appearance I'd say you're the one we're after. The description of your hair was perfect."

Kuroo half hoped he was referring to Bokuto then, but when the man continued to stare his way he sighed, and made a note to thank Kenma later for whatever he had said to these strange people. 

 “I assume so." He replied in a stern tone, aiming to mask his displeasure. "Name’s Kuroo Tetsurou, and you are?”

Subsequently something about this figure changed, he recognised abruptly. His smile widened for starters, whilst the tension overhead started to thicken, and silenced Bokuto altogether.

“Daichi Sawamura.” He spoke simply, casting his gaze in Bokuto’s direction. “Demon lord of The Roost, and your new boss.”


	3. Metal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm not 100% sure I need to defend this but heads up: there is a use of nicknames in this chapter associated with certain characters that fandom is split on, and they're obvious once you get there. 
> 
> The context in which they're used is not akin to fandom usage and does serve a purpose. It'll be uncomfortable af for some but bear with it, it's not there so as to reduce good characters to single tropes and will make sense further down the line.

Anxious… apprehensive… downright petrified?

 Kuroo tried and failed to churn the words through his mind when Daichi led them up the stairs. All the vocabulary in the world couldn’t hope to describe the emotions he was experiencing, leaving him no choice but to stare up at the back of the man that they, mostly Bokuto, had managed to shred apart in one very stupid incident, and pray for the best.

“I hate to go on, but I really am sorry about earlier.”

“It’s fine.” Daichi never looked back until he reached the top of the stairs, and upon doing so made sure to block the way. It was a subtle, but convincing statement that the wrong answer in their conversation might result in the two being shoved all the way back to the bottom. “Like I said, I can tell you’ve got a decent bit of creativity up there. Of course I can’t promise I’ll be so forgiving if you slander me again.”

“Understood!” Bokut replied first, feeling the need to salute for some reason. As daft as it was, Kuroo was relieved to see his hand quiver evey now and then, meaning that he had at least a little regret for his behaviour. 

“We promise to behave.” Kuroo added.

 Satisfied at last, Daichi stepped aside, and allowed them to pace up the last couple of steps. “You know I only came down to see whether you’d gotten crushed under all the rubbish. Futakuchi told me he’d sent you, and yet you were taking so long that we became worried.”

 _"_ Thanks." Kuroo replied, trying to sound sincere. Daichi didn't seem to care either way, giving a half hearted shrug before motioning back in the direction of the stairs. 

“You probably figured out that much when you were down there, but that entrance leads to the storage rooms. You’re welcome to use the main entrance next time, but… just in case, it’s nice to have the spare one.”

Kuroo cocked a brow. “It’s a rather intricate set up, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“We have our reasons.” Daichi replied hastily; obviously not keen on sharing too much information at this point in time. “But for now let's move on and introduce you to the team.”

It wasn't the most reassuring answer, but reluctantly they continued to trail along. Much unlike the previous rooms and coridoors the walkway was sparse and plain, with long wooden planks running either side. On the flip side it meant there was no way of telling where Daichi was taking them, nor what exactly this place was.

“I read your work by the way, the samples you sent Kenma.” Daichi prompted to break the silence. “They weren’t too bad.”

 Kuroo figured that was about the best praise Daichi could muster, but was thankful nonetheless. "I'm glad to hear it, sir...?" 

“Daichi is fine, no need to use formalities like that, or native ones for that matter.”

 “You could always call him Papa, like some of the others."

 For a moment Kuroo swore that came from Bokuto, what with him being the only other person in that hallway, however he proved to be just as confused, shrugging and shaking his head quickly. Returning his attention to their boss Kuroo perceived, with some delight, how his cheeks began to burn, eyes fixated upon the doorway ahead.

“That was nothing more than a joke.”

“A good joke, you have to admit!”

Without further ado another figure sprung out from the far end of the walkway, a flash of grey hair visible before Daichi doubled up in pain from a punch to his gut.

"What took you so long? I've been worried sick!" 

"We had some... complications." Daichi spluttered, clutching his chest. Unfortunately his answer did not satisfy his companion, a rather handsome looking man also of their age, who simply glared in response and folded his arms.

"You weren't giving the newcomers trouble, I hope?"

On cue Bokuto and Kuroo shook their heads frantically, uncertain whether to be more wary of Daichi, or the pretty, yet devilish man who had floored him with one blow. 

“Of course not.” Daichi grumbled and rose to his feet. Instead of elaborating on that matter he looked to Bokuto and Kuroo, then signalled to the newest arrival. "Now moving on, this is-" 

“Sugawara Koushi." The man interrupted with a bright smile. "Though a few people call me Mama. It's a hierarchy thing, nothing more.”

Daichi rolled his eyes in silent protest, but let Sugawara have his fun regardless. At the very least his attitude had lessened the tension in the air, and caused Bokuto to break out into an eager grin.

"How's it going?" Bokuto asked. "You work here too?"

"You could say that." Sugawara laughed, then eyed Kuroo. "How was your journey?"

"A bit hectic. Almost missed our train and well… our map wasn’t up to scratch…” Kuro confessed, rubbing the back of his neck with a hand. As he spoke Sugawara acknowledged their appearances one by one, humming in approval.

"No matter, you're here now. And much better looking than I thought." Sugawara remarked, ignoring Daichi's look of horror. "Black haired one is Kuroo, obviously. Meaning this one is Bokuto, correct?"

"He knows our names." Bokuto exclaimed.

"He's well informed, is all." Kuroo reasoned with a chuckle.

“Well it is in my interest to learn your names.” Sugawara interrupted, glancing at Daichi whom had decided to remain silent for his own safety. “Speaking of which we should move on, I’m certain someone will be asking for me again soon enough.”

No one found a reason to refuse his command, following him on through the remainder of the path. As they reached the end of the path Kuroo could hear voices through the wood, loud footsteps and thumps, and even the lively tunes of a violin in the distance. Clearly some kind of party was being held, one which Sugawara intended to involve them in as he lead them swiftly to a final, wooden door.

“I hope you two don’t mind noise, I’ll warn you this is a very lively home.”

“We'll be fine. This guy is loud enough on his own.” Kuroo jeered, pointing to Bokuto who gave a grumble in protest.

“Brilliant, in we go then!”

 In a flash the door was shoved open, and the group were blinded by the intense light that flooded through. It took a moment for Kuroo and Bokuto to adjust, whilst Sugawara stepped out first to a mass of delighted cries and cheers, apologising for the wait. Right behind him Daichi crawled out of the woodwork, followed by Bokuto and Kuroo, who gasped in unison at the marvellous sight that greeted them.

“Impressed?” Sugawara called back, outstretching his arms. “Welcome to the Roost!”

 Impressed really wasn’t the word.

 

 Pacing forward one careful step at a time, the pair gawked with mouths agape. It was hard to believe that after travelling a dust clogged hell they would arrive here, in a vast, magnificent hall decorated in a sea of red and gold. A ballroom perhaps, Kuroo gathered by the specific flooring and two tiers of balconies on either side. In the middle of the room a group of men practiced cartwheels and jumps, trying to move in time to the musicians, whilst an attractive huddle of ladies worked on a routine on the far side of the hall.

“Oi Mama, what _is_ this place?” Bokuto asked, dumbfounded by the sheer number of people, the noise, the buzzing atmosphere tingling through his bones. It was almost too good to be true, a paradise amongst the smoky, grey streets. 

“We’re a family of performers.” Sugawara replied, wandering back to their side.“The Roost is a circus, dance hall, and entertainments bar all rolled into one.. Perhaps you noticed, but we’re all from the same part of the world.”

Kuroo nodded firmly. “Yeah, how come?”

“It’s simple.” Sugawara uttered in a strangely saddened tone. “My partner Daichi, and I... we came here a few years ago, to live the western dream. We thought we would do well, and meet many others who had benefitted from living over here.”

In light of the mood both men maintained a respectful hush, permitting him to continue.

“But as fate would have it all we witnessed was despair and hurt for our kind. So we set up The Roost, walked about to gather up all the poor souls we could find, and gave them a home here. A place where they can work safely, away from the scum who would exploit them for being… ‘exotic’.”

 The dread that tugged at Kuroo’s conscience was indescribable, his eyes meeting Daichi’s. “I-… I really am sorry. We misunderstood completely.”

“Misunderstood?” Sugawara blinked at the two in turn.

“Mmmh…” With a heavy sigh Daichi placed a hand on his partner’s shoulder, giving it a soft squeeze. “The silly pair thought they’d wandered into some brothel.”

“Oh…? _Oh!!_ ” Bursting into laughter Sugawara punched Daichi once more. “It must’ve been all those clothes downstairs! I told you we need to clear those out!”

“You know…” Bokuto muttered loud enough for Kuroo to hear. “I feel like Sugawara is the one who rules The Roost.”

“I think so too.” Kuroo chortled, the two entertained by the sudden domestic going on before them. “Must be difficult to manage so many people, though.”

“Of course!” Supposedly finished with scolding his partner, Sugawara returned. “It’s a very big family, but we have a little system here and it works. So far, anyway.”

 As if all the scenery hadn’t impressed them enough, Kuroo and Bokuto nodded in utter respect. “How does it wo-”

“Oi, Sugawara!!”

“Oh my… One moment boys.” Sugawara mumbled with a light hearted chuckle, staring into the distance as a man came stomping over, his bare feet slapping the ground. “Oikawa, what’s wrong?”

 “I need you to have a word for m- oh.” Oikawa stilled his tongue upon noticing Kuroo and Bokuto, and pulled his blue robe around him with a laugh. “Forgive me. I didn’t realise we hired clowns.”

“Be nice, these are new members of our family.” Sugawara frowned.

“I’m _always_ nice.” Oikawa cooed close to Sugawara's ear. “To those I like.”

 As if expecting such a rude remark, Kuroo arched an eyebrow in Daichi’s direction. Apparently the man was just as tired and expectant of Oikawa’s comments, rolling his eyes with a shake of his head. Bokuto meanwhile, bizarrely, _worryingly_ quiet for some time now, scoffed at their new acquaintance.

“What happened to your clothes? Are you not capable of getting dressed without Mama’s help?”

Within a split second Oikawa reeled back as if Bokuto had outright shot him, eyeing the man in horror. “… _Excuse me?!”_

“Enough!” Sugawara speedily intervened, launching in front of Oikawa before he could cause an damage. “Please don’t poke fun. Oikawa is a delicate sort.”

“That’s one way of putting it.” Daichi remarked, gripping Oikawa's shoulder to keep him still. “Now calm yourself, hm? I believe you wanted to speak to us about something.”

“That’s right! You need to sort out that moron!”

“Me?” Bokuto inquired.

Oikawa shot him a glare. “Not _you._ ”

“Then who?” Sugawara probed, trying to usher him out of his tantrum with a soothing tone. With laboured breaths Oikawa submitted in time, clenching his fists. “That smug faced, nocturnal nightmare over in the Dome…! I insisted our group use it for the afternoon and he- he told me to get out. Quite rudely at that!”

 _Couldn't have happened to a better person…_ Kuroo mused, more interested in watching a boy with orange hair nearby currently practicing continuous backflips to a small audience.

“Oikawa… You know they need that area more than you. You have the Hall here to practice with.”

This was not the reply Oikawa desired. _“But-!”_

“I will talk with him regardless.” Sugawara halted the complaint with a wagging finger. “Now go resume your own routine. I’m sure the girls need their star, hm?”

“Oh…” Oikawa perked at the mention of ‘star’, and nodded in approval before taking off. "You're absolutely right!"

“Apologies for that interruption.” Daichi spoke up, arms folded over his chest. “We get all sorts here, as you’ve just seen. Nevertheless, do your best not to provoke him again, alright?”

“I couldn’t resist, sorry.”

 

 If he had to summarise the events so far, Kuroo would deem this place no less than confined madness. Regardless, there _was_ something very comforting to the establishment.

“Sugawara? About this system you mentioned…”

 Sugawara nodded in answer; pried away from whatever thoughts Oikawa had conjured. “Yes, as I was explaining. In order to handle so many people, and to make sure everybody contributes to the family, we have created several groups.” He gestured to Oikawa with a subtle jerk of his head. “The one you just met, he’s the star of the Plants group. They work on floor routines, dance, gymnastics etc. so you’ll mostly find them in this Hall.”

 Spying the increasing grin on Bokuto’s face Kuroo jabbed him in the side with an elbow. His commentary was far from necessary.

“Over there…” Sugawara resumed, pointing to the orange haired boy. “There’s one of my many little Fledglings.” The pride in his voice didn’t go amiss, nor the fond gaze aimed at the crowd overall. “Beginner performers often do well there, since they’re a mix of various arts. That’s not to say they’re amateurs, not in the slightest, it’s more that they’re a very wild bunch. Moreover, the majority of them are kids we collected from back home.”

“You mean they never travelled here themselves?” Kuroo inquired, somewhat relieved to hear that much.

“Correct. They’ve been kept entirely apart from the horrors this land can offer.”

“That doesn’t mean to say they’re well behaved.” Daichi hooted with laughter, observing when the orange haired boy began to wrestle a taller boy with black hair. “I can see you two over there!!”

 Not even Kuroo could resist smiling when the pair separated, their whining over who started the fight in the first place falling on deaf ears. An abrupt clap tore him from his musings shortly after however, prompting him to look towards a beaming Sugawara.

“You, Kuroo, are going to be a part of the Cat group." Sugawara stated in an excitable fashion. "They’re a brilliant crew responsible for the majority of set ups for our shows. A certain friend of yours happens to work in that group also.”

“Kenma?!” Kuroo exclaimed, unable to mask his glee.

Sugawara remained pleased as ever. “Yes, Kenma. The kittens are currently plotting the basics out for a new production script, so if you could get involved with that it’d be much appreciated.”

Kuroo clenched his fist tight, nodding eagerly. “With pleasure!”

“Pleasure _indeed_.” Bokuto snorted, giving him a playful nudge. “Bet you just can’t _wait_ to _work_ with your beloved kitten.”

“I’m not going to lie that I’m happy.” Kuroo retorted, batting the back of his head. Whilst inclined to pursue their little play fight, they paused, quietening down when they spied the concerned looks on Sugawara and Daichi's faces.

“What do you think…?” Sugawara uttered, looking to Kuroo and Bokuto momentarily.

“You’ve always been the better judge of this.” Daichi murmured under his breath. “Don’t forget we can change things about later if need be.”

“I know, but…”

“Is there a problem…?” Kuroo announced.

“No, not a problem per se.” Daichi started. "It's just that we were expecting you, but not Bokuto here."

"Oh..."

"We aren't suggesting he leave." Sugawara interrupted. "We simply need to find a place for him to work..."

Bokuto didn't seem to dislike the idea, awaiting their instruction.

"Let's see. Fledglings is a rather big group already... so not there." Sugawara mumbled. "In fact let's make this easy, what've you done prior to coming here?" 

Bokuto jolted on instinct, and chewed at his lower lip. It was precisely what he didn't want to discuss. 

"It's okay, y'know." Kuroo tried to reassure him. Whilst he wasn't entirely convinced Bokuto knew he had to do something to stay at The Roost, even if it meant bringing up sore topics so soon.

 “I've had several jobs. Mostly factories.”

“Oh-” Immediately Sugawara stepped up, boldly delivering a well needed embrace. “I’m sorry.”

“It’s alright. I’m not in one now, at least.” The laugh that came from Bokuto was empty, distant. “Got sacked just the other day.”

“I’m glad. Sad for you, but glad. You’ll be much better off here, I assure you.”

Squeezing his eyes shut for a moment, Bokuto returned the hug, a fist clenched in the back of Sugawara’s shirt. “Thanks.”

 Having lived with and witnessed his companion’s suffering, Kuroo offered a sympathetic smile, one Bokuto repaid from over Sugawara’s shoulder. It was a small gesture, though very much appreciated.

“Say…”

“Hmm?” Bokuto blinked when he felt the other man begin to squeeze and feel at his upper body. It was no longer a hug, to put it simply. “Sugawara, what’re you doing?”

“Bokuto...” Sugawara began, pulling back with a penetrating, almost passionate stare. “I know this may seem inappropriate, but… would you mind removing your jacket a moment? Shirt too, actually.”

 It went without saying that his request had blown their sorrows aside entirely. Caught unawares Bokuto looked to Kuroo for help, but all he received was a shrug and a grunt.“I dunno’, do as he says?”

“Kuroo.” Bokuto could all but groan at such a dumb response. “Nevermind, what about you Daichi?”

“Go on.” Daichi motioned with a hearty laugh. “He has his reasons.”

All the while Bokuto slowly unbuttoned his shirt Kuroo could only imagine what on earth Sugawara was playing at. Did he anticipate that Bokut would be injured? Had he somehow seen the cut through his clothes?

“I knew it!!” Releasing an exhilarated breath, Sugawara slapped a palm to Daichi’s chest when Bokuto had finally succumbed, his jacket and shirt in a pile on the floor. “That is not the body of a factory worker.”

“Techically it is."

“Hush!! Don’t you see it?!” Sugawara circled Bokuto soon enough, paying no mind to the dark bruises that littered his back, nor the fresh gash between his shoulder blades that trailed halfway down his spine. “You must work hard to keep in shape like that.”

“I guess.” Bokuto spoke up with a half-hearted shrug. “I like to exercise, keeps me distracted.”

“He’s obsessed with it.” Kuroo chipped in. “Day in day out this lunatic is doing push ups, hanging from the doorways, anything to pump his muscles a bit more.”

“Daichi, do you know what I’m thinking?” Positively thrilled with this turn of events, Sugawara gave Bokuto’s upper arm a firm touch. Daichi didn’t seem to share quite so much enthusiasm on the other hand, arms remaining tightly folded.

“I do, but don’t you think it’s a bit risky? He has no experience in-”

“He can be trained. They specifically asked for more muscle, and this man has it in bucket loads.” Speaking a low, fierce tone, Sugawara pressed on. “If you truly trust my judgement, you’ll agree.”

 _Roughly translating to ‘I will punch you if you disagree’._ Kuroo deliberated with a smirk.

 Understandably Daichi caved at that comment, both hands raised up in defeat. “You’re absolutely spot-on. We’ll put him there.”

“Marvellous!” Sugawara declared, bringing his hands together with another loud clap. “Oh, almost forgot! How do you feel about heights?”

“Don’t mind them. Used to do all the crappy or dangerous jobs no one wanted in the factories, climbing up the machinery and such…” Bokuto rambled as he got dressed. “Anyway, does this mean I can stay? I don’t mind doing general jobs out back and-”

“I have far more exciting plans for you.” Sugawara stressed coolly, swiftly seizing his arm and guiding him across the hall, Kuroo and Daichi silently joining them. With big strides they made it to a set of doors at the very end, of which brought them to a courtyard. Though the courtyard was vast and impressive, their destination however just ahead, another building quite large in size, but much taller in height.

“The Hall back there is but one of our venues.” Sugawara began to explain, “The other one is the Dome. I’m sure its namesake should be fairly obvious.” He remarked, pointing to the dome shape rising from the rooftop. “In there is our final performance group, the Owls.”

“I like owls!” Bokuto declared, to Kuroo's dismay. “Why’re they called that though?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Sugawara sighed, readying himself as he clutched the metal ring, and gave the door a substantial pull.

 

 Following an aching grind the door succumbed, revealing a large room adorned with rows upon rows of red velvet seats facing a huge rectangular stage. At the back of the room there were even tables and chairs, suggesting a sense of luxury. Unlike the Hall, this venue seemed to accommodate for more leisurely events and shows, as opposed to any actual consumer participation. That said… there was a bar located in one corner, probably the only thing any customer would be engaging within personally.

 Upon entering the Dome Kuroo and Bokuto were met with short lived amazement, about to comment on the impressive height of the ceiling before reeling in horror when a figure dropped down, suspended on a rope harness.

“Hey there!”

Sugawara was the first to express his horror, stumbling back a few paces. “Komi, what have I told you about such stunts?!”

"Can't recall." Komi grinned. "But whatever doesn't matter, take a look at this!" Motioning upwards, he pointed to a metal rail way up high, one of many, that ran along the ceiling. The various pipes interlocked neatly, forming a rather beautiful pattern of sorts,not too unlike that of the ironwork at the entrance. “With this thing all we have to do is attach our harness, and we can go fly!” Just to prove his point, Komi swung to the nearest wall then used it for leverage, soaring off across the room just above the rows of tables with a mere kick of his feet.

 Daichi, being the typical figure of authority that he was, just shook his head in disbelief, taking to comforting his somewhat fear stricken partner. “Another one of _his_ inventions, I’m guessing?”

“I do wish they’d be more careful…” Sugawara visibly winced when Komi began to twirl and pull of flips in his harness. Before he could act upon his worries a brief groan interrupted that thought, coaxing the group to look in the direction of the tables. From beneath the nearest table a man with blond hair surfaced, wrapped up snug in a large wool blanket.

“Can you guys keep it down? I was sleeping.”

“Konoha!!” Komi called out, clapping his hands despite still spinning in his harness. “Come join me!!”

“No thanks. Too tired for that shit.” Konoha yawned loudly, squinting as he adjusted to the light.

“Are they… all like this?” Kuroo muttered to the bosses in question.

“No, not everyone is mad. If that’s what you’re getting at.” Daichi explained. “They’re a group of aerial acrobats who spend most of their time practicing; hence their sleep patterns are completely out of sync with the rest of us. If you ever need one of them, look for the highest place possible. You’ll tend to find them lurking in the rafters somewhere.”

Kuroo chuckled at that revelation. “Hence the name 'Owls'?”

“Precisely.” Both Daichi and Sugawara replied, visibly drained. When he collected himself at last, Sugawara motioned to the blond nearby. “Konoha… where might Sarukui be?”

“Saru? Oh, um, he…” All too suspiciously Konoha feigned a yawn, rubbing his eyes for additional weight to his performance. “Whoever knows, he could be anywhere. Out in the city… in his ro-”

“Konoha, I would very much appreciate your co-operation. Saru no doubt expects a visit from me by now.”

 Flinching, Konoha nodded whilst pulling the blanket tighter around his body, then jerked his head towards the stage. The deep, plush red curtains were pulled open, leaving only a decorative drape of fabric running along the top. Behind that however it was clear to see the ceiling went higher up, reaching way into the rafters.

“Thank you.” Sugawara commended Konoha with the usual smile, before gracefully making his way to the stage area. It would be terrible to miss out on the potential drama, the remainder of the group believed, so obviously they trailed after him, making sure to give some distance for their own safety as well. When Sugawara approached it became evident how tall even the stage itself was, the others watching as he calmly folded his arms, propping them against the edge of the platform.

“Sarukui. I need to have a little word with you.”

 Sugawara's words echoed eerily about the venue, whilst Daichi’s withdrawn posture emphasised how the next scenario could play out. As far as he was concerned it would be wise for Sugawara's target to comply, but unfortunately no answer came.

“Sarukui…” Sugawara cooed, dragging out the last syllable. He kept his eyes up, in no direction in particular, but he knew what he was searching for. “I don't want to ask twice. I will find a way up there if need be.”

 There it came at last, a slight clatter of metal, another harness no doubt, and a muffled bang before a figure swung out to the middle of the stage, a mocking tone to his voice. “Pray tell, what does _Mama_ want with me?”

 A mere glimpse at this individual was all Kuroo and Bokuto needed to understand Oikawa's earlier description. Natural or not, the new arrival wore a permanent smile, the corners of his mouth curled upwards even when he appeared to be frowning shortly after. 

“Oikawa mentioned you had a little chat earlier on.” Sugawara said, ignoring the nickname altogether.

“Did he now…?” Sarukui mused, adjusting the rope in his hand so that he was lowered gradually, but still at a reasonably safe height from Sugawara down below. “What did he say?”

“He says he wanted his group to use this space, only, you told him to get out.” Sugawara replied, climbing up onto the stage. "Does that sound familiar?"

“Hm…” Sarukui blinked a couple of times, then hoisted himself further out of Sugawara's reach. “Now that you mention it, I might've said something of the sort."

 "You did." Komi agreed, his harness clanking along the rails as he moved closer to Sarukui. "Quite eloquently at that."

“Komi shh!”

“And just what did you say, exactly?” Sugawara pressed, narrowing his stare. Despite his serious tone he was enjoying the scenario, watching Komi swing and flail about in his harness trying to reach his companion. On closer inspection Kuroo realised that the ceiling had two sets of rails, the main system Komi was connected to, and one exclusively for the stage where Sarukui resided. Simply put there was no way that Komi would ever reach the other man, but none could fault him for trying.

Before Kuroo could linger on that thought he was disturbed by a cushioned thump, the sound of Konoha slumping into one of the front row seats so he could jeer at the pair above. "I believe it was- hm... yes. _Fuck off you ground-dwelling incubus_?"

Sugawara's jaw fell slack. "Sarukui!!"

"Oh c'mon I was just speakin' for the masses." Sarukui moaned in protest. "And besides, did he happen to tell you what he said to us beforehand?" 

“No. No he didn’t…” Sugawara sighed, rubbing a hand to his forehand. He already assumed Oikawa had done something to provoke them first. "At any rate, next time you dismiss him... be a little more polite about it?"

“So that means I can throw him out again?” Sarukui spoke in a hopeful tone, lowering himself until he could plant both feet on the stage, and step out of his harness.

“Only within reason.” Sugawara conceded. “Though I am rather curious. What did he say to you?”

"Mm..." Sarukui paid close attention to Kuroo and Bokuto whilst he wandered over, then glanced Konoha's way. "Nothin' I care to elaborate on right now. Let's just say he was bringing up unnecessary arguments."

 “I see. Where are the others now?”

 “Onaga and Washio are over there.” Konoha butted in, pointing to two men at the very back of the room. In spite of all the noise they were fast asleep, huddled up snug in their chairs. “I was up late practicing with them last night.” He added, then turned his focus to Kuroo and Bokuto. “So if you don’t mind speaking with them later that’d be great. They need the rest.”

“Of course.” They replied in unison.

“Speaking of that... we should really get on with the introductions hm? We’ve deviated a bit.”

“That we have.” Sugawara agreed in a calm breath as he stepped towards the centre of the stage. Just above there hung a variety of hoops, ropes, and two long strips of silk from the very middle. Something about it all intrigued him, or so they believed when his hand gently stroked at the fabric.

“I know you’re up there too. It’s rather hard to hide when you’ve got half the equipment out.”

 With a nod to Daichi he too climbed up on the stage, eyes fixed upon the beams above. “Is he up there?”

“Of course, I’m not silly.” Trying once more, Sugawara kept his voice lax. A creak had sounded when he spoke, almost inaudible, but enough to prove his suspicions correct. “We have some company I’d like you to meet, so could you pop down for us?”

 There it came… another groan of the boards above. Tilting his head Bokuto frowned, more so when Kuroo got pissed and shoved his head away, having supposedly jabbed his face with those cursed spikes of his. Swiftly then a flurry of Konoha’s hands ushered them into silence, and they watched the fabric pull in places, hands occasionally reaching round to clutch more of the silk as someone descended. About halfway they then dropped, provoking a fearful expression from Sugawara. “Easy! You know how I fret about you lot and your landings!”

“Sorry Mama.”

 Somewhat humorously the silks proved to be a nuisance even to this- whoever it may be, Kuroo chuckled when a hand batted them aside and the final member of the owls stepped out, only to become stunned at whatever his eyes had just laid upon.

“Well _damn_.”

 Kuroo’s declaration was far from helpful, and his eyebrows lifted impossibly high to the point they might disappear off into his hair, never to be seen again. Desiring a second opinion on the exceptional black haired creature on the stage, he shifted his gaze to Bokuto who, well… stood there in a moronic daze.

 To put it simply, Bokuto was currently unavailable for appointments right now, if not anytime in the near future, Kuroo realised when even a light shove couldn’t waver those bold golden pupils fixated upon the man beside Sugawara. On the other hand, he supposed this was all the information he needed to understand just how his friend felt about the new arrival.

“Akaashi.” Sugawara greeted, a hand motioning towards the group now whilst they walked towards the edge of the stage. “I’ve got a potential new recruit to the Owls I need you to see.”

“Oh? Very well.” For some reason his own gaze never left Bokuto, merely laughing a little through his nose when he caught sight of his hair.

 This Akaashi was a man of little words, Kuroo swiftly acknowledged, and as far as the slobbering fool beside him was concerned, it suited him just fine.

“ _Bo. Look sharp.”_ He hissed quickly, growling in annoyance as the focus was entirely upon them both. No amount of elbowing could deter his companion entirely from his trance, and only after some time did he give a creepy, slow roll of his head to meet Kuroo’s glare.

“ _Bro.._.” Bokuto’s voice, albeit largely breathless, was dripped in adoration. “You know that talk we had, back on the train…?”

“You cannot be serious.” Kuroo cursed, aiming to smack some sense into him with a swift knock to the back of his head. “You’ve literally just laid eyes on him.”

“That was all the time I needed.” Bokuto grinned stupidly, blind to the several pairs of eyes upon them, blind to the world even. “I love this group already.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before commenting on the Mama/Papa thing, please consider the initial notes or watch this: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VoDS1lWdpjw


	4. Rope

 It was in those moments when the air turned thick, syrup-like and slowly revolving around their heads, and the very pulse in his eardrums began to thud, that Kuroo would contemplate the articulate means to convey his emotions.

 Bokuto’s vague ramblings regarding their earlier conversation on the train had gone unnoticed by all but Kuroo, soaring over their heads where it would hopefully curl up in a ball and leave The Roost, never to return again.  Exhausted, Kuroo gave up on his internal reflections and sent another wary glance to the bar, feeling very inclined to make use of it soon if his companion were to make any further stupid outbursts.

“Right then…” Sugawara chimed in through the atmosphere, clapping his hands together so as to gain the group’s attention, but not too loud for the sake of Onaga and Washio, who were still blissfully asleep somewhere in the back rows of seats. “As you can see we have some new additions to the family, Bokuto and Kuroo here.” With a single hand he highlighted each man in turn. “They’re friends of Kenma’s who travelled from- say, where was it again?”

“Morne.” Kuroo informed, proceeding with the introduction when Sugawara gave a small nod. “It’s a city not too far from here, where we’ve lived for the past couple of years. I’ve been writing for a newspaper during my time there.”

“Anything good?” Konoha interrupted, having gotten comfortable in one of the front row seats, so much in fact it was likely he’d fall back to sleep if he weren’t careful.

“Course not; the greedy bastards gave me the worst jobs going. So I walked out on ‘em- that is to say... they probably know as much by now.” He pondered, looking about for a clock or anything of the sort.

“You just left?”

“Pretty much.” Kuroo’s conclusive laugh met numerous smiles, Komi shrugging with a chuckle from his position up above.

“Can’t blame you for that!”

 Pleased with the success of the bonding time thus far, Sugawara beamed before continuing the explanation. “As you might’ve guessed, Kuroo’s been assigned to the Cats to keep writing for us. Most importantly however- and no disrespect intended Kuroo- Bokuto here is the one I needed you guys to meet. Daichi and I decided that it’d be best he works with your group from now on.”

 Delighted by the prospect, Sarukui, Konoha and Komi affirmed their approval with some cheers (hushing when they recalled their sleeping friends close by of course). Akaashi on the other hand remained silent, displaying neither disapproval nor excitement for this revelation, eyes concentrated upon Sugawara.

“On what basis?”

“He’s precisely what you need.” Sugawara answered simply, hands behind his back and lips pursed shut. It was the tell-tale sign that he wouldn’t be swayed on his decision, not by anybody. “He’s got the right build for the job, and the enthusiasm is there. There are others reasons which you’ll discover soon enough no doubt, all I ask is that you trust me on the matter.”

“My, what a serious one…” Kuroo muttered faintly, finding Akaashi a fairly entertaining sort. Though his face didn’t account for much in terms of expressions, his body language screamed all manners of judging Sugawara's choice. Bokuto meanwhile, no longer dribbling and considerably more composed than earlier, merely offered a nod in response.

“Kinda’ cute though.”

“I’m guessing he’ll need training?” Sarukui prompted in the silence, not to sound negative, oh no. “I mean we all gotta’ start somewhere, right? None of us were experts at this to begin with.”

“Precisely!” Sugawara was practically glowing at such a comment, adopting all the pride possible as he went to Sarukui’s side and ruffled his hair. “I’m glad someone understands.”

“Mama-” Akaashi cut in with an exasperated sigh, finding the dramatics highly unnecessary. “I never said his joining was an issue, nor his experience for that matter.”

“Of course not, and it won’t be.” Sugawara noted with an eerie calm. Soundlessly his hand left Sarukui’s hair to sit on his own hip, head turning to observe Akaashi from over his shoulder. “I’ll be leaving Bokuto in your care, that way you can be fully confident in his abilities… In short, if he doesn’t do a good job, we know who to blame.”

“ _Ohoho._ ” Kuroo was unable to disguise his amusement as he snorted, an elbow nudging Bokuto’s side playfully. “Lucky boy.”

“ _Sugawara!_ ” Came the protest from Akaashi, fists clenched and eyes all too befitting of a bird of prey when they closed partway, honing in on Sugawara. “This isn’t a game!”

 Alas his argument fell on deaf ears, Sugawara promptly jumping from the stage to land gracefully before Kuroo and Bokuto. “Oh my, look at the time…! I am terribly sorry I must be going.” Without another word he seized hold of Kuroo, turning him on the spot and ushering him to the door. “Come along Daichi, we must get this one to the rest of the kittens.”

“I was just thinking the same thing.” Daichi could barely hide his own amusement when he too left the stage, patting Bokuto on the shoulder just before he made to exit the Dome with the others. “Best of luck to you.”

“Thanks!” Ignorant to the silently seething man on the platform, Bokuto spun on his heel and waved Daichi off eagerly with big swings of his arm, Konoha following suit.

 

 Not a single word was uttered when the door was hauled shut, the heavy thump reverberating through the walls and the pipework above whilst Komi leisurely swayed in the safety of his harness. Immediately it became a stand-off of sorts, each member looking to one another in turn as if daring the other to speak.

Sarukui obliged, unsurprisingly, with a considered smirk in Akaashi’s direction. “He got you good.”

 

“Um... are you sure it’s safe to leave him there?”

 Sugawara glimpsed in Kuroo’s direction, silently guiding him back into the hall and to a set of stairs leading to the balconies above. Their pace had become a casual stroll by then, Daichi and Sugawara either side of Kuroo whilst they went along.

“Of course, I really do have my reasons for putting him there, besides the obvious muscles.”

“Such as…?”

Daichi picked up the conversation with a reassuring smile. “He’ll be happiest in that group. By no means do I question your friendship, but he’ll find a certain understanding there… A comforting one at that.” 

“Also it’s fun to tease their little star.” Sugawara butted in, unable to stay quiet for too long.

“Akaashi, was it?” Kuroo remarked, “Sure he’s good looking, but he seems rather…”

“Dismissive?”

“Grumpy.”

“Distant.” Sugawara finished, watching Kuroo's brows raise high in displeasure. Something about Sugawara’s tone seemed low, almost serious, however, pushing him to end their little game. “He isn’t a bad person, Kuroo. I promise.”

 Of course, Kuroo conceded with a light nod, he knew that much. “All I’m saying is that I won’t tolerate anyone being an ass to Bokuto without reason. That’s my job.”

“Aha…” To Kuroo's surprise the pair began to laugh, and Daichi slapped a hand to Kuroo's shoulder shortly after. "Forgive us, it's not you we're laughing at!"

 "Then what?"

“Akaashi, of course.” Sugawara replied, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I can’t say I’ve seen Akaashi so riled up before!"

“... Really?” 

“Really.” Daichi stressed. “Out of all of them, he’s notorious for keeping quiet. Always up somewhere on the roof keeping to himself. The others in the group are probably the only ones who are able to maintain a long conversation with him. I struggle with him myself, so I’m impressed.”

“It’s fairly sad though, from my perspective.” Sugawara included with a solemn tone. “So I reckon Bokuto will be an interesting addition.”

Kuroo lifted both eyebrows once again. “A total contrast, you mean. Bokuto doesn’t know when to stop talking, and hell I won’t be surprised if one of them kills the other by the end of the week.”

Sugawara's face lit up in an eerie fashion fast. “That’d be a sight, wouldn’t it? But never mind, we’ll see how they cope…” Soon enough he stopped walking, having led them along the balconies, which were in fact corridors of sorts with several doors situated along the wall. “This may seem a bit confusing at first, but most of the doors on these balconies lead to other areas of The Roost, this first floor is devoted to the groups more focused in arts overall, and those involved in the production’s creation. For example to the far end you’ll find the musicians, they’ve got their own soundproofed facilities, of which comes in handy when you want to keep future music a secret.”

“I see.” Kuroo was nodding firmly; paying attention regardless of the fact he knew all too well he’d forget this information come dinner time. He observed when Sugawara motioned to the next doors up, those being for the marketing specialists and the artists.

“Our offices are over there.” He clarified, pointing to the doors on the opposite balconies, “so if you ever need to consult us, even for a bit of feedback, we’re here for you.”

 _How considerate._ Kuroo pondered happily. “Thank you.” When silence loomed overhead he stared, blinking as they then gestured to the door ahead.

“Go on.” Daichi murmured in a strangely gentle and considerate voice. “We know you’ve been waiting for this.”

“Wait for… you mean?!” Kuroo whipped his head to the door, then the bosses. By then Sugawara had taken the liberty of grabbing the door handle, shoving Kuroo closer with his free hand.

“Yes, yes, now get on with it. He’s been missing you too!”

No, this was too much, especially with an audience.

“Clear off first!!”

 The words had left without thinking, and a terrible dread tugged at his being when they did. “I-I mean… sorry. I…”

“No offense taken.” Sugawara enlightened, his arms soon draping their way around Daichi’s upper arm. “We shall leave you both to it. Daichi and I can keep ourselves occupied.”

 _That was not the image I needed._ Kuroo determined with a blank expression. Watching until they returned to the first floor, he seized the handle himself, pulling the door open soundlessly. Naturally, he was nervous as heck about this moment, he had thought about it many a time in the last several hours and by no means was he any more prepared by having done so.

… Certainly not when he caught sight of him.

 

 Upon spying that familiar golden and black hair he swallowed, the lump near-on throttling due to the sheer dryness of his throat. His back was turned towards him, and he appeared to be hunched over a set of papers amidst a little nest of pillows gathered on the floor. “Kozume…?”

There was a jolt, the other’s shoulders twitching ever so slightly when he called out. Perhaps insignificant to anyone else, it was all Kuroo needed to signal his own surprise. “Tetsurou?” In an instant they were together, Kuroo having made a mad dash into the room, and Kenma likewise flung himself at the taller man.

“ _Ow_!”

“S-Sorry.”

“Don’t be, my fault!” Kuroo laughed from deep in his belly, overcome with glee as he cuddled Kenma to his chest (of which Kenma had head-butted quite violently when they collided just then, hence the cry in pain). “I’ve missed you so, so much.”

“You’ve should’ve gotten here a year ago.” Kenma grumbled, arms reaching round to grasp the fabric of Kuroo’s coat. “What the hell have you been playing at, the pair of you even… Putting up with such horrors all this time?”

“Well, you know how it is…”

 Gradually Kenma turned his head upwards, glaring fiercely. “You’re a fool.” The stare subsided when Kuroo’s trademark smile surfaced, a hand reaching to smoothly stroke through strands of yellow hair.

“And you’re looking even lovelier than before, quite cute even.”

“I’m going to hit you.”

“No.” Kuroo stressed, his own eyes narrowing as he leant in. “You’re going to kiss me.”

 As per usual, what Kuroo wanted, Kuroo got. Kenma half wished he could hit the man in that moment, but it was a decent enough kiss, so he let it slide. In fact somewhere in the middle he’d forgotten about his troubles entirely, paying no mind to their surroundings, nor the fact that Kuroo had subtly gotten him to lay down amongst the pillows, a hand feeling its way up under his shirt.

“Hnn…” Kenma’s eyes, which had closed at some point of the kiss, flickered open halfway. “Not the worst hello I’ve gotten.”

“I can do better, if you like.”

“Kuroo… you're so impatient.” Kenma deadpanned, then glanced to the side. “Perhaps if you’d gotten here sooner you wouldn’t be so desperate.”

“On the contrary, you bring out a bad side of me.” Kuroo snickered hard and nuzzled into the skin of Kenma’s neck. The gesture was surprisingly gentle, all things considered, Kenma mused to himself as he ran a hand through the back of wild black tresses.

“Oh…”

“ _Oh_?” Kuroo pressed, lifting his head to smirk at Kenma and realise, so brutally, that he was just as confused. “… Oh.”

The sound had not come from Kenma, but another… Namely the short individual lurking in the doorway.

“Well, well… I assume this is the newest addition to our team?”

“Yaku,” Kenma started whilst clearing his throat, patting Kuroo’s chest gently to have him move aside. “Sorry, yes… This is Kuroo.”

“Good to meet you at last.” Yaku strolled right on inside, setting two cups of coffee down on the desk nearby. “Kenma’s spoken a great deal about you.”

“I hear he’s given quite the description of me too…” Kuroo muttered, raising both eyebrows at Kenma.

“Hm?” Yaku was only half listening, scooping up some papers and shuffling them into a neat bundle. “Oh, yes. That he has. Anyway,” Turning on his heel he smiled to them both, clutching the papers in his arms. “I’ll continue working elsewhere and give you two some space. Take the coffee there too, I’ll make myself another.”

“But the script-” Kenma interrupted whilst lifting a hand. “We were supposed to look at that today.”

“Leave it to me, I just need to go over a few details and then the three of us can work together on it later tonight. Sound fair?”

 After exchanging glances Kuroo and Kenma nodded in agreement, Yaku more than content with their answer. “Well then, have fun.”

 Patiently they waited with bated breath for the door to click shut, exhaling heavily soon after. Kenma had gotten up and seized one of the coffees, taking a sip. “I think it’s best we continue our ‘greetings’ somewhere private.”

“Of course.” Kuroo complied with a sigh, terribly miffed at the notion of ending so soon. Shortly enough the second cup was thrust into his hand, Kenma having taken a seat at the desk, calmly observing Kuroo whilst he drank.

“I’m relieved you’re here at last.”

 The coffee proved a huge comfort as it travelled down his throat, a sensation he’d deemed long gone having lived in an apartment where lukewarm water occurred once in a blue moon. “I’m glad to be here.” What with their fun time over (for now, Kuroo noted, highlighted and underlined in the boldest mental fashion possible) he sat himself snug in the centre of the pillow nest, gazing up at Kenma now and then from behind the steam of his drink. He really had missed him.

“Where’s Bokuto?” Kenma inquired all of a sudden, ruining Kuroo’s romantic dreams entirely. “He did come along with you, right?”

“Of course, I’d never have left him behind.” Swigging a large gulp of coffee, the bitterness of it all strangely pleasant on his tongue, Kuroo continued to explain. “He’s been assigned to the Owls, so he should be training with them right now.” An abrupt laughter bubbled up from inside, widening his smirk. “I think it’s fair to say he’s rather besotted with that Akaashi guy. I can only hope he doesn’t do something stupid.”

“You and I both.” Kenma replied with a concerning tone to his voice, one which prompted Kuroo away from his own amusing thoughts to witness his partner’s change in expression.

“Kenma… Is there something wrong?”

“No- That is to say…” Fidgeting a little, Kenma found the eventual means to speak up, his gaze tracing the circling motion of his coffee. “How serious is he? About this little infatuation I mean.”

 Kuroo had no clue where this was headed, giving a half-hearted shrug of shoulders whilst he set his coffee down on the floor, flopping back against the pillows afterwards. “Beats me, he saw him for roughly five seconds at best before drooling like some idiot.” Silently he folded his arms behind his head, his eyes fixated upon the other. “Really Kenma, is there a problem?”

“We shall have to see.”

 

“Don’t flail about! You’ll turn upside down!”

“I’m _trying_!! Do you have any idea how difficult this is?!” With a mighty huff Bokuto had both hands latched onto the rope connecting him to the pipework above. For some reason the group (all those awake at least) collectively decided it best he have a go at using the harness mechanism first, and why not? It was safe enough.

 Naturally, they never took into account their own experiences of using it for the first time, so when the idiot began to scream and soar across the room they were rendered dumbfounded. Around that point the remainder of the team had awoken, his fits of terror or surprise having lasted the past hour or so, and now five of the Owls were gathered on the seats below, gawking at the sight.

“Hey, slow down!” Thankfully Komi had remained in his own harness and rescued Bokuto to the nearest wall for a breather. “Take it easy, ok? I actually fell out of my harness the first time I tried this, so in comparison you’re a genius.”

“Oh that’s incredibly reassuring.” Bokuto half laughed, the other part of him dying slowly in a mixture of fear and frustration. With a roll of his eyes Komi grabbed for one of his hands. “Look… before you even try to move, just hang.”

“Sorry?”

“Like this.” Komi demonstrated when he let his arms drop either side of him, legs dangling likewise. “Keep calm and get a feel for the balance.”

 Whilst hesitant at first, Bokuto gave a soft, trusting nod, shakily sliding his hands down the rope until they left them entirely. “… Ohh!” Beaming now he let his legs go limp, elated when he stayed upright.

“Perfect!” Sarukui called up at him, clapping his hands together excitedly. “Keep it up and you’ll be swinging about the room in no time!” The praise only served to lift Bokuto’s mood and cause a grin to surface when he punched a fist to the air.

“I did it!!”

“He managed one of many tasks.” Akaashi cut through the jolly atmosphere, rising from his seat and wandering back to the stage, much to the astonishment of everyone. “Get him down so we can continue, we’ve wasted enough time as it is.”

 Following a silent shake in disapproval, Komi jerked his head towards the stage; behind one of the curtains was a small platform they could use to dismount. Carefully he kicked at the wall to bounce along, Bokuto following suit, albeit a little wobbly still as he adjusted to the balance. “Come on…”

 For all it was worth, Akaashi was doing his utmost to restrain his attitude. It wasn’t that he hated Bokuto, not at all, nor was he entirely mad at Sugawara for essentially stitching him up by labouring him with an apprentice of sorts… He simply had his reasons. Reasons that couldn’t be divulged just yet.

“Good.” He proceeded with a calm intake of air when Bokuto joined him on the stage beside the silks. The peace was short lived however when he noted, yet again, those eyes bore down on him with a strange intensity. It was as if his eyes were in a mad bid to roam everywhere but meet Akaashi’s own stare, inciting a sense of discomfort. “Bokuto, please concentrate.” With a thoughtful glance Akaashi acknowledged the rest of the group’s sudden disinterest in their lesson, having snuck over to the bar and begun to examine the contents of the cupboards.

“I am. I am.” Came an almost sing-song response, Bokuto quite possibly drunk on his own emotions. “Can’t help but appreciate good things, you know?”

“ _Don’t._ ” Akaashi warned in a low tone, of which was just enough to steal Bokuto’s attention, even for a second. “Your behaviour is not appreciated.”

“Oh come _on_ , I was simply paying a compliment.” Bokuto spoke in dismay, rapidly quietening his voice so that he’d avoid alerting the others. Soundlessly he took a step closer for good measure, lips pursed in thought. “Honestly Akaashi, I don’t mean to jump to conclusions, but do you have some problem with me?”

“What?! No-”

“You’ve been in a foul mood since I got here.” Bokuto pressed further, his face soon awash with contemplation. “Perhaps that’s the norm for you, I dunno’. Even so, I can’t learn from you like this, and if I can’t learn I can’t stay in the group… Or is that what you want?”

“ _No!”_ Akaashi whispered harshly, eyes frantically darting in the direction of the bar. “I’m just asking you to stop... stop-”

“Stop _what_ exactly?”

 If Kuroo were around right about now, he’d have been mightily concerned, and with good reason.

Every now and then Bokuto would become so riled up in his emotions that he would hit a wall, a very violent wall that sent his mood plummeting downwards. That moment was no different, and Akaashi seemed to grow aware to the change in the other’s mood, albeit too late. “Look, it’s silly I know, but the staring. Please stop it; it makes me a little…” Gazing elsewhere his comment drifted into silence, teeth nipping at his lower lip.

 _Just great._ Bokuto thought bitterly. He’d been having such a brilliant time not too long ago. Their arrival to Vol had been entertaining, the Roost even more so with the abundance of lively, mostly friendly characters… and now this? Now he couldn’t even _stare_ at somebody?!

“You know what. I don’t even care.” Throwing his hands up, Bokuto revolved on his heel. “Forgive me for being so rude as to take a look at you. I had no idea it was so wrong to appreciate someone’s appearance!”

“Appreciating?!” Why, Akaashi was taken aback with the sheer lack of rationality. “How can anyone be comfortable with someone gawping at them so hungrily? I’m not an object you can just stare at for your own amusement!”

“Woah, woah!” Konoha whirled his head in the direction of the stage, Komi and Sarukui copying upon having heard the rise in their conversation. “Guys what’re you-”

Bokuto dismissed his outburst entirely. “You know when I first saw you I kinda’ thought you might be the withdrawn type, but this- this is different! I’ve barely begun my training and you’ve written me off as some useless heck knows what! How is that fair?”

“It’s not! I-I know it isn’t.” Running a hand through his hair Akaashi sounded a groan. “I’m sorry, alright? I don’t mean to come across quite so rude; I just want us to get on with this training.”

“But _you’re_ barely doing a thing! You dumped me on the rest of the group because you don’t want the bother of training me!!” It was becoming all too evident that Bokuto’s patience had slipped, tumbling away with the excitement and enthusiasm he upheld not long ago. “Let me guess, you’re the sort who can get away with it, aren’t you?”

 Similarly Akaashi’s own cares had subsided, replaced with sheer frustration. “… Just what is that supposed to mean?”

“Guys will you stop it already?!” Konoha had dashed to the front row of seats, standing before the stage. “We’re supposed to be working together here!”

 Again the protest proved empty, Bokuto shaking his head in disbelief. “Isn’t it obvious? Dear Mama must think very highly of you, all things considered.” Without a single damn he looked Akaashi up and down, setting him off into a worse mood than before. “All your type has to do is bat their eyelids, say they’re sorry and ‘oh but I _tried’_ and then you’re forgiven, leaving _me_ in the shit.”

“Bokuto.” Sarukui warned as he climbed up onto the stage, casting a wary glance to Akaashi. “Just drop it ok? You’ve said your piece.”

Akaashi meanwhile appeared equally determined to settle things, though likely not as the others were hoping. Their volume merely increased with each remark, the two inches away from one another and casting the foulest glares imaginable. “What is your obsession with how I look? No- What has it got to do with _anything_ that’s going on here?!”

“For starters there’s this little thing called first impressions,” Bokuto retorted with a near hiss, “and let me just say from where I’m standing, your appearance is the only good thing you’ve got going right now!”

 To say he regretted those words would be a huge understatement. He’d gladly label himself the biggest moron going, but that too was far from the truth. The pent up rage had swept away no sooner did the cruel remark leave his lips, condemning the other to an eerie quiet. To make matters worse, nobody had the audacity to move until Akaashi made his way to the edge of the platform, jumping down.

“… I see.”

“Arrgh!” Bokuto wanted to punch himself, and then ask everyone else in the room to do the same. “Akaashi wait! I didn’t mean I-” Quickly he hopped off the stage, walking briskly after the other man.

“You lot resume his training, I can’t do this-”

“ _Akaashi_!”

 Needless to say Bokuto got his wish when he touched upon Akaashi’s shoulder, thrown off entirely when it was knocked aside and a hand promptly struck across his cheek.

“ _Don’t.”_ Akaashi growled, pointing a finger in his face. In fact his entire body trembled, Bokuto noticed with a horrible sense of guilt, his voice dropping to a tone almost soundless. “You’ve made it clear where we stand, so just do me a favour and leave me be.”

 Bokuto dare not respond by that point, watching dumbstruck as Akaashi stormed through the open door, leaving the Dome.

“Let’s do as he says.” Sarukui prompted kindly, bizarrely calm like the rest of the group, especially considering he’d just insulted their companion. “He’ll be back in time.”

“Right…” Bokuto pondered, eyes narrowing with a great deal more concern than before.

_Hold on… The door was open..?_

 

 Taking big strides Akaashi made his way across the courtyard. Returning to the Dome anytime soon was out of the question, so was the Hall for that matter. It wouldn’t do to have either of the parents notice that he’d stormed out in the middle of their training session. No, he had no other choice but to return to the dorms, the entrance of which was located there in that courtyard, to the right of the Dome.

“Calling it a day, are we?”

 Halting abruptly, Akaashi whipped his head round, an exasperated sound leaving his lips when he spotted the owner of the voice. “Not _now_ Oikawa.”

“I heard your little drama back there,” Oikawa enlightened with a hint of amusement, he was finally dressed, arms folded as he stood by the door to the apartments. “I only dropped by to say sorry for my slip of the tongue towards you, and there I am, walking right into a family meltdown. Although… ‘family’ seems a stretch with the way you two behaved.”

“I don’t have time for this; just keep quiet about it, alright?”

 “Quiet…?” Oikawa chuckled and followed Akaashi in through the entrance, promptly shoving the other to the nearby wall and closing the gap to render any attempt of escape useless. “You are not in a position to make demands of me… I warned you long ago something like this would happen.”

“What’re you talking about?” Akaashi murmured harshly, looking about either way to make sure they had no audience. In the meantime Oikawa maintained his composure brilliantly, placing a hand against the wall beside Akaashi’s head.

“I’m referring to a certain something you and I know a great deal about?”

“That’s irrelevant.”

“Oh if only it were.” Oikawa replied in a weary tone. “That little spat of yours back there…? That is the result of your selfishness the past two years, shutting yourself away as if nothing ever happened. All you’ve done is isolated yourself to the point no one dares, or perhaps even wants to get close. You can’t blame someone for focusing on your appearance when you don’t offer much else in the way of conversation.”

 Giving a flippant roll of his eyes Akaashi turned his head elsewhere. “Spare me the lecture. We’re not all like you, I can’t just pretend everything’s alright.”

“I _don’t_ pretend.” His retort had hit a nerve in Oikawa, resulting in a concentrated glare. “That issue very much concerns me to this day, the only difference is that I’ve made some attempt to live my life, hence I have Iwaizumi now, and both you and I have a family. Try to be grateful for that.”

“I am. Above all things I’m grateful for what we’ve been given here.” Akaashi managed to cool himself somewhat. “I still… I can’t bring myself to open up like you.” Part of him, if not the majority, felt pathetic for that comment. Regardless Oikawa softened likewise, standing back with both hands on his hips.

“Please remember it’s not just us who were affected. Think of the others too, how much they’re trying, and then take a good look at yourself. That’s all I’ll say on the matter.”

 There came another roll of Akaashi’s eyes, a brief, saddened smile on his face. “I can’t tell if you’re trying to comfort me or make me feel bad.”

“The former, mostly… So as long as you take my words on board I don’t care.” Granted, Oikawa was a blunt sort, but he meant well. “Surprisingly enough, I’m not as cruel as some people think. I understand where you’re coming from, I just don’t agree with how you’ve handled things.”

“Noted. Now do I have your permission to leave?”

 Clearly Oikawa was only able to get so far with this one, even he was aware of that much. Taking another step back he motioned towards the stairs, Akaashi approaching them. “Yes, yes… I’ll even keep this quiet, as you requested.”

 Bewildered, Akaashi made to glance over his shoulder. “Really? You of all people?” Without another word hands shoved at his back, ushering him upstairs.

“How rude, I said I’m not that mean a person!”

“I’m merely surprised by your generosity.”

“And I with your sudden urge to hold a conversation. Now shut up and go.”

In that bizarre moment of bonding Akaashi couldn’t help release a light chuckle, hopping up a few steps and turning to look back at Oikawa. “Alright, well thank you.”

“Yeah, yeah.” Perhaps flustered by the kind words, Oikawa waved a hand dismissively and prompted Akaashi to keep going, before recollecting something. “Oh, one last thing.”

“Yes?”

“What that guy said to you earlier…? Don’t listen to him.” Finally, by some miracle Oikawa offered a warm, well-intentioned smile. “I know you enough to see he’s wrong.”

_Ah…_

 Somewhere amidst their debate, he had almost forgotten about Bokuto. Alas the memory came flooding back aggressively, prompting an ache in his chest and a thick lump to form in his throat.

“… Ok.”


	5. Wool

“Mnn… Stop that, I can’t concentrate.”

“That’s kind of the point.”

 With a flick of a wrist, sheets of paper were tossed to the air in a chorus of fluttering, Kenma reluctantly surrendering. Kuroo had remained persistent, as always, nuzzling into his hair for the past half hour muttering all manners of distracting nonsense in a bid to earn his attention. By some stroke of luck they had been left uninterrupted in the writer’s room (clearly Yaku was feeling incredibly generous), allowing good time for the pair to catch up on events. Of course Kuroo considered it an even better opportunity to resume their ‘greetings’, and who could blame him?

“You’re so stubborn, greedy too.”

 “You still love me.” Kuroo hummed contently into Kenma’s neck, the familiar pull of his eyelids closing indicating that a) he was indeed fairly catlike and required a nap and b) he was incredibly comfortable, two facts he had no intention of denying at that precise time.

 Kenma’s head shook up and down briefly, black and golden hair shifting about in time with his movements. “That I do. Regardless you are here to work, so it’d be best you avoid becoming too distracted around me.”

 _Typical Kenma, always the one to bring things crashing down to reality._ Kuroo admitted with a puff of air through his nose. He could feel his mood wane more and more until a hand reached back to cup his cheek. “You’re not sulking I hope?”

“I don’t sulk.” Kuroo retorted, absolutely contradicting himself.

“You do.”

“Don’t.”

“Do.”

“Arrgh shh!” Sounding another huff Kuroo hid his face in the back of Kenma’s neck, cuddling him tighter. “Promise we can spend more time together tonight, at least?”

 For all his terrible habits of provoking, manipulating… downright cockiness… Kuroo could be surprisingly adorable, Kenma acknowledged favourably. Leisurely he withdrew his hand, placing it on Kuroo’s arm about his waist. “Of course, we’ll be living together after all. Sharing a bed, even.”

“Sorry?” Kuroo’s ear pricked up at the last part. He had to question his hearing on the matter, just in case. “Did you say..?”

“We’ll be sharing a bed, yes.” Kenma repeated, wearing a deadpan expression when he turned to stare over his shoulder. “Each group lives together on their own floor of the dorms. Typically we each get our own room but I explained to Sugawara that wouldn’t be necessary in your case.”

“I see!” In a mixture of intrigue and sheer elation Kuroo grinned, nodding hastily. “That must make it a fairly tall building, no?”

“Around six floors.” Kenma considered. “Surely you noticed it on your way to the Dome earlier? It’s on the left as you leave the Hall.”

“ _Ahh._ Yes I did see that, now that you mention it.” Everything was quickly beginning to make sense in the gloriously mad establishment. “That means we’ll be living on the same floor as the other Cats?”

“Indeed.” Following a conclusive hum Kenma’s head moved to look ahead, his eyes closing gently. Overcome with peace, and relief for his partner’s long awaited safety, his mind began to drift elsewhere.

“What’re they like?”

 Eyes opening once again, Kenma figured it best to turn partway, sitting across Kuroo’s lap with his head resting on the other’s shoulder. “Yaku is good company, reliable… He’s almost as scary as Sugawara when he wants to be. Then there’s Kai, he’s very calm, good for advice… Inuoka is pretty friendly… Fukunaga, you’ll recognise him soon enough. He’s a little strange, but means well. Those three are largely in charge of the music department.”

“Right.” Kuroo ran the details through his head, but again, he knew he’d forget it all soon enough.

“We have two pairs of siblings, each a brother and sister, in our group as well. The Haibas and Yamamotos.” Kenma noted with some interest. “The two girls, Alisa and Akane namely work in the arts and marketing department. Though they also do part time for the Plants group as dancers.”

“Huh… I didn’t think it’d be possible to mix groups?”

“Mm.” Kenma lifted his head. “Its common practice amongst all the groups, excluding the Owls of course, since their work is a bit extreme for most of us… Moving on, Ennoshita of the Crows helps write and direct productions, so you’ll meet him from time to time.”

 _Oh hell… another one?!_ Kuroo wasn’t sure how he’d remember all this. “I thought there weren’t any more groups?”

“Mmm… there aren’t, per se.” Kenma shrugged half-heartedly. “The Crows and Fledglings are essentially the same cluster. Only the Crows assist in organisation, help run the bar for example. The Fledglings are the acrobats and performers.”

“That is just ridiculous.” Alas there was nothing to do but put up and shut up, as they say. In the meantime Kenma reached for his coffee, pulling a sour face upon discovering it had gone cold. “Anyway, Lev and Taketora… we just call him Tora, often collaborate with the Fledglings. Tora’s a fire performer, Lev’s an idiot.”

 Kuroo couldn’t help but laugh loudly at such a remark. “My, what a naughty kitten you are! Why the cold description, hmm?”

“You’ll know when you meet him.”

“Don’t tell me… they tried to have you two work together at some point?”

 Kenma’s face merely worsened, the furrowing of his brows becoming severe to the point they may very well knot into a monobrow in due course. “He can’t write to save his life.”

“I thought as much.” Tilting his head back to examine the ceiling, Kuroo grinned harder. “Say… I remember Sugawara mentioning that all the Fledglings… and Crows assumedly, came straight from our home land?”

Kenma lessened his frown, though curious at such a comment. “Yes. I assume you’re wondering whether the same goes for the Cats group?”

“Yeah.”

 A temporary pause followed, Kenma’s lips pressed together in thought. “Mostly… Hinata from the Fledglings encouraged me to come over. Yaku, Kai, Inuoka and Fukunaga were on the same boat here so we met on the journey over.”

“Oh good.” Kuroo was undoubtedly relieved to hear as much. “Then the siblings…?”

“Lev and Alisa were already here, living with their parents in fact.”

 _Interesting…_ Kuroo pondered, peering downwards at Kenma.

“They’ve got mixed blood. One parent from the west, the other from the east. Their parents worried it might bring harm on them, so they asked Sugawara and Daichi to take them in, where they’ll be safe.” All of a sudden Kenma fell silent, fidgeting on Kuroo’s lap. “The last two… I…”

“What?” Kuroo probed, tilting his head. “Something bad happen to them?”

 With a ‘tch’ Kenma left the comfort of his partner’s lap, beginning to collect the papers from the floor. “It’s best you remember that there are people here who haven’t had the best start in the West.”

 Evidently puzzled by the dramatic change of mood, Kuroo held up his hands. “Sugawara informed me of that much, but what about it?”

“Be careful who you ask about.” Kenma pressed, eyes closed partway. “That’s all I’ll say for our group. As for the others, I think it’d be wise to bring your questions to Sugawara, or wait until the time is right.”

In spite of his desire to inquire further, Kuroo laid the issue to rest with a mental note to take Kenma up on that offer. It was only the first day after all… such talk could wait.

 

“Hey… I’ve messed up bad, haven’t I?”

 There was no mistaking the guilt which engulfed the Dome, clinging to the walls and dripping from the ceiling above, slowly poisoning the figure now hunched over the edge of the stage. 

Training had come to a swift end when Akaashi walked out, the group unable to determine the best move from here on out. Consoling their newest member seemed the best route in the meantime however, Sarukui setting himself down beside Bokuto. “That’s one way of putting it, I guess.”

 “I-I don’t know what came over me, I got mad for no reason and-”

 To his left came a pop sound, followed by a wash of liquid, Sarukui soon producing a small glass which he held in front of the depressed sod. “Here, drink this.”

 Bokuto didn’t think, for the second, maybe third time that day, guzzling the liquid down only to promptly spit it out again, spraying the devilish concoction across the front row seats. “Saru, what the hell?!”

“Hmn.” Sarukui took to examining the bottle in curiosity. “Whiskey, I think? An acquired taste that’s for sure… It must be Papa’s.”

“That was gross!!”

 Bokuto’s stomach heaved when Sarukui took a gulp from the bottle, his own face turning to that of disgust… maybe?

“It’s got a kick.” The other laughed, coming to the sensible decision to put the stopper back on and set the bottle aside. “Ugh. Now where were we?”

“I believe I was in the middle of feeling sorry for myself.” Bokuto droned. “That and mentioning how much of an idiot I am.”

“Ohh, yes. That.” Either Sarukui was attempting to help, or he genuinely gave no hoots about the matter, his expression static throughout the majority of their conversation. “Look, how’s about we change topic hmm? We don’t know much about our dear new owl.” The smile on his face widened, a hand patting Bokuto’s back lightly.

“An excellent point, if I do say so myself!”

 If Bokuto could comment on anything about this group so far, it’d be the fact that they enjoyed popping out of nowhere; hence it came to nobody’s surprise when Konoha resurfaced from a few rows back, waddling to the stage still huddled in his blanket. “Tell us about yourself, please?”

“Oh, well I uh…” Bokuto brought a hand to the back of his neck, rubbing it with a sideward glance. “There’s not a great deal to say…” His nerves began to knot inside with a mighty pull; anxiety fizzling up when Washio came to join them also, getting comfortable beside Konoha in the front row seats (the ones Bokuto didn’t spit alcohol on). Needless to say, none of them were convinced.

“I hardly think a guy with hair like yours has very little to say about himself.” Konoha prompted with a kind smile. “Suga put you here of all places for a reason.” At that response Sarukui and Washio nodded in agreement, and then returned their focus to Bokuto. That was a brilliant point.

 Taking a deep breath Bokuto placed both hands on the platform edge, gripping it as if the entire place were to fall should he let go. “Kuroo already explained for the most pa-”

“Don’t talk about him.” Sarukui interjected. “We’ve know enough about that one, it’s you we’re interested in.”

“Right.”

 _Talk about intense._ Bokuto complained inwardly, the burn of three sets of eyes upon him only growing with each second he delayed. “Ok, though just to set the scene, I’ll mention I only started living with Kuroo over a year ago… We met in a café I worked for, a place he liked to visit when he had writer’s block.” Bokuto couldn’t help but laugh at the memory, the amount of times he caught the man hunched over his latest article with knotted brows, muttering furiously into his coffee cup. “Anyway, I lived in Morne a good year or two prior to that on my own, doing various jobs… physical… you know, manual jobs…”

“Hmn.” Washio gave another bow of his head, bringing his arms across his chest. “I assume that’s why you’re with us.”

“Is it though…?”

 Washio stared to the man beside him, who was disappearing into the comfort of his blanket and quite possibly ready for his third nap that day. “What do you mean? He looks as if he’s got a decent build.”

“True.” Konoha accepted willingly enough. “But in that case why not keep him with the Fledglings or Crows? He’s a beginner performer after all, no disrespect. So it can’t be a matter of him having prior experience.” After much deliberation and eyeing up of poor Bokuto, he smiled. “Looks as if we’ll find out soon… For now, mind showing us the muscles Suga seemed so fond of?”

“Sure.” Finally lessening his death grip on the stage edge, Bokuto shrugged off his jacket and pushed it to one side, before grabbing at the hem of his shirt and tugging it upwards. Meanwhile Konoha sent a knowing glance to Sarukui, who somehow took whatever silent message he was conveying and replied with a fleeting nod.

 Alright… upon spying Bokuto’s exposed upper body, the trio had to confess Sugawara _was_ a good judge of these things.

“Impressive.” Washio offered a hum in approval, causing Bokuto to grin sheepishly and rub at the back of his neck once again.

“Thanks. Suga seemed pretty pleased too.”

Konoha’s expression of admiration simply increased, though momentarily when he switched his attention to Sarukui. In a rare turn of events, his brows were furrowed and it was his turn to clench both hands against the platform.

“… You were in a factory, weren’t you?”

 Bokuto could have sworn his entire chest caved inwards, heart thundering against his rib cage to an irregular beat. To think a single sentence could have such an effect.

“What makes you say that?”

 Sarukui wasn’t having any of it, his face unusually calm and focused. “Your back.” The hold he had on the stage began to whiten his knuckles, a weary sigh escaping his lips. “I’m right, aren’t I?”

 All their strange habits aside, the group were incredibly perceptive. Following a loud swallow Bokuto proceeded to bow his head, that familiar wave of shame not far behind. “Yes… I was but-”

“Don’t feel bad.” Sarukui dragged him from the progressing self-pity with a firm hand upon his shoulder, lips tweaking into a considerate smile. “No sane person enters such a place without good reason.”

“Saru…?” Bokuto began, taken aback by the abrupt thoughtfulness. Not to imply that he saw the other as anything but, certainly not. It was merely unexpected. Making to stare at the pair in front shortly after he saw similar, gentle expressions, Konoha wriggling in his blanket to get comfortable (as if he wasn’t enough already).

“I think its story time, don’t you?” Those words weren’t directed at Bokuto, thankfully, but to the others, who seemed to agree with his proposal.

“Firstly though, where’s Komi…?” Came the sudden interruption from Sarukui, his tone bizarrely stern whilst his eyes began to scan the area. When nobody had an answer his head whipped about faster, Bokuto lifting an eyebrow with interest.

“Maybe he’s gone out?”

“No. Only Akaashi lef- ah.” All the apparent worries brushed aside when Sarukui spotted tufts of spiked hair from behind the stage curtain to his left, Komi having created a suitable make-shift bed from one of their safety mats and a blanket similar to Konoha’s. “He’s asleep.”

 _Of course he would be._ Bokuto acknowledged in amusement, putting his shirt on. “Shall we wake him?”

“ _No_.”

 Yet again Bokuto was rendered speechless, Sarukui’s mood doing a complete flip in a single, terrifying second. “Leave him be.”

“Ok…?”

Konoha took that as the best cue to clear his throat loudly, distracting them both. “Right then, Bokuto. Since you’re our new team member I reckon it’d be good for you to learn a little history about the Roost, and us Owls, sound good?”

“Of course!” Bokuto was fairly ecstatic in his response, hands pulling his shirt back in place. Something about it all… their respect for his background, proved reassuring, pleasant even.

 The four fell into a peaceful hush whilst Konoha’s eyes lifted to the ceiling, contemplating where to begin. “Let’s see… The Roost… Sugawara and Daichi started it about five years ago, yeah, 1895. Back then, it was a much smaller family. They started up the place alone, and then brought the Fledglings and Crows over.”

“Question.” Bokuto threw his hand up immediately. “What’s with the Crow group?”

“Oh that.” Konoha laughed. “Suga’s fault. They’re the same thing basically. Collectively we refer to them as the Crows, but the Fledglings are an affectionate nickname for the performers of the group. The rest do the important shit like run the bar-”

Washio scoffed at that comment. “Really important.”

“I second Konoha’s opinion. Proceed.” Sarukui piped up, looking round for that whiskey bottle from earlier.

“Thanks. As I was saying just call them all the Crows, it’s easier. Fledglings is merely a cute alternative. You see even the name itself, the Roost I mean, is supposed to emphasise a resting place of sorts for our kind, all of which Suga has adopted and sees as his little chicks. I don’t think Daichi minds in the slightest.”

“He doesn’t have much choice.” Washio spoke with a low, rumbling chortle.

“Indeed.” Everyone seemed to share in that entertaining thought, smiles all round before Konoha resumed. “Once the Crows arrived, the Roost focused on being a form of entertainments bar, largely hosting events and parties, hiring out the venues, pretty standard stuff. Then more people arrived, starting with some of the Cats, and the Plants.”

“Oh no.” Bokuto droned. “Not the snarky one with the brown hair?”

 With a considered pause Konoha shook his head. “Oikawa… wasn’t then. There are many more members of that group, but they’re away right now, so you’ll meet them in the near future. Now then, as you can tell the Owl group didn’t exist because none of us had arrived just yet.”

“I see.” Nodding profusely, Bokuto attempted to make mental notes throughout the explanation. “When did you guys turn up?”

“This sounds like we’re at school or something.” Sarukui jeered, earning a playful nudge in the side from Bokuto to silence him.

“Onaga and I were the first ones. We arrived about six months after the Roost got going?” Stopping again, Konoha looked round, spying Onaga clearing up the bar from their earlier exploration. “He and I used to work for a theatre the other side of town. At first all we did was errands, but following some time we got involved behind the scenes helping the actors dress and such, I even wound up being their make-up artist of sorts.”

Bokuto could feel his eyes grow large in fascination, leaning forward slightly. “You must be good?”

“He’s alright. He just knows how to do a lot of different things.”Sarukui had seen fit to interrupt in his usual blunt fashion, drinking some of the foul alcohol when finished.

 Konoha on the other hand wasn’t keen to indulge his comment, both eyebrows raised. “It was a really nice place, friendly people… we were treated very well. Problem is the theatre had money issues which forced it to eventually close up, hence we lost our jobs. That was when we found ourselves stumbling upon the Roost, and Suga took us both in right away.”

“What a nice story.” Bokuto was positively grinning, a mood peculiarly none of the others reflected when the explanation concluded. Allowing his smile to subside, he observed Konoha, who in turn bore holes into Sarukui with his own stare.

“I believe it’s your turn.”

“Ngh… Guess there’s no helping it.” Sarukui gave a dismissive roll of his shoulders, casting his attention in Komi’s direction briefly. Bokuto wasn’t as perceptive as this bunch, granted, but even he could sense the tension in the atmosphere. “We… that is to say Komi, Washio and I, we joined the Roost four years ago, 1896. We came from a factory, like you.”

 _Oh._ All too soon Bokuto understood Sarukui’s earlier behaviour, doing his utmost to return the earlier kindness, or at least refrain from causing additional upset. “… Makes sense now, how you knew from looking at my back-”

_Wait, no._

_… It didn’t make sense._

 Albeit too late, Bokuto recognised the rocky patch they had just hit in this recollection of events. There was only one way Sarukui could have come to that conclusion, and the answer wasn’t particularly pleasant. “Sorry…”

“Don’t be. You’re not stupid; I think you’ve got the idea by now.” Inhaling deep, Sarukui’s head tilted back. “We didn’t know one another at first, but because we were all foreign they shoved us into a group, which isn’t so bad.”

“It was just you two at first.” Washio highlighted, “Then you and I met, remember…?” Offering the other an encouraging smile, he motioned to his earlobe. Something about it worked, because Sarukui burst into a fit of giggles.

“Right!”

 Naturally Bokuto was confused beyond belief, eyes darting between both men until Sarukui patted his arm and perhaps with some level of pride, displayed a grim looking dent of sorts in his earlobe. “See this? This was the first telling off I got in the factory.”

“One of many.” Washio brought up exhaustedly. “He was renowned for being one of the most troublesome workers, very efficient, but couldn’t resist being rebellious.”

“I had my reasons for this one!”

“Such as?” Bokuto intervened, utterly unsurprised by this new revelation.

“Well, you see when I started out, there was this guard.” Sarukui was doing his best to maintain his composure, holding back the laughter that threatened to erupt. “He took one look at me and said my face was weird, the lips mostly. So I made it my goal to stare at him each chance I got. Didn’t matter what I was doing, I would always look his way.”

“Saru, seriously?!” No, Bokuto wasn’t entirely sure why he was questioning this either. It sounded legit. “What’s the thing in your ear about then?”

“Oh right, I got punished for it. The guard had enough one afternoon and became hysterical. I don’t know how your factory went about things, but the warning punishment was usually a nail through the ear.” All too casually, Sarukui enlightened. “You have to lie back on this table and they stick one through. They walked off muttering angrily after they did it, and kinda’ left me there. Must’ve wound them up badly.”

 There, the snickering ensued.

“That’s how we met.” Washio took that as a sign to pick up on the conversation. “They were so annoyed they didn’t want the bother of removing him, because even after the punishment he was laughing and making comments. The table wasn’t big and they needed to bring someone new in, so they asked me to go, as a fellow easterner, and collect this idiot.”

“It was a beautiful encounter.” Sarukui snorted. “You strolled on in, grumbled a hello and then ripped that thing right out.”

“You were nailed to the table. What else was I supposed to do?”

 There was little room to protest there, Sarukui acknowledged with a smirk when Konoha paled at such a nonchalant recollection. In spite of the gory images that came to mind, Bokuto couldn’t help but confess to being amused by the story. “Didn’t you guys find it difficult to communicate with the guards though? Since we don’t speak the same language and all?”

“Oh of course, but when they’re yelling at you, you kinda’ get the idea what they’re saying.” Sarukui replied with a shrug.

“Meanwhile you swore at them repeatedly and gave all sorts of creative insults.” Washio sent another unimpressed glimpse Sarukui’s way. “You’re lucky they didn’t understand you.”

“I think I’m lucky in general, all things considered.” This time Sarukui wasn’t teasing, or remotely happy even, his gaze focused upon the floor. “No, maybe luck wasn’t it…”

 Yet again, the group was drawn to a hush. Bokuto sincerely hoped this wouldn’t happen often, particularly to the man beside him… it was most unsettling. “… Did something happen?”

 There was no easy way of getting around the topic. No matter how he approached the question, it would provoke the same harrowing sense of despair amongst the small crowd. The shuffling of Konoha’s blanket seemed to ring loud and clear through the air, he too seeking something, anything else to watch. “This is the best time to explain-”

“I _know_.” Sarukui hissed, cursing under his breath. Don’t misunderstand, he wasn’t angry at anyone in particular, merely the circumstances. Cautiously he glimpsed sideward, relieved to see Komi resting peacefully still. “I suppose it’d be faster to show you…”

 Soon enough Sarukui was working open the buttons of his own shirt, concern further consuming the others, especially Washio. Amidst the tension Bokuto became aware to teeth sinking into his lower lip, the sudden clamminess to his palms… and the raspy attempt for air he made when Sarukui finished undressing, moving round to give a proper view of his back.

“ _Shit_.”

 Now Bokuto considered himself a complete fool. How on earth had he been so selfish, _yet again_?

“It’s alright.” Sarukui muttered, his voice barely rising above a whisper. Whilst desperately trying to find the words to express his sympathy, Bokuto only managed to shake his head. There were several marks across the entirety of the skin, outnumbering his current injuries tenfold. Some remained dark, almost purple in colour, despite being around four years old. Why, it was more like an animal had attacked him; the way they layered and crossed one another… it was far beyond what a human could, or should have been capable of.

“They go down all the way from there, right to my feet.” He continued to describe, lifting a bare foot to display a few marks at the heel and base. “I’d rather leave the presentation at that though, if you don’t mind.”

“O-Of course…” Came the reply at last, Bokuto conjuring a meek, pitiful sound from his throat. Did he want to know how it happened…? Did he _deserve_ to know?

No matter, he would find out regardless.

“In our factory we had teams, roughly three people per machine. Washio, Komi and I were one of them.” The hesitation which seized at Sarukui’s voice became glaringly evident, his audience upholding a respectful quiet in light of this. “Two would carry out the work; the third would be on standby to dislodge anything that would get caught in the machine, such as yarns, tools etc. That role was typically given to the shortest member, mostly children. The owners of the factory didn’t believe in malfunctioning equipment, so it was up to you to fix any problems, or else.”

“There were children doing a similar job in my factory.” Bokuto agreed with a thoughtful, solemn nod. Still, he reasoned inwardly, this didn’t explain Sarukui’s injuries.

“The day I got these marks was when our machine played up. It didn’t seem like an issue to begin with… it had happened a few times before after all, so as usual Komi climbed under the mechanism to find out what the problem was. That was when I noticed something was horribly wrong, that it wasn’t like before, so without thinking I yanked him back out and-”

 Sarukui found himself grasping for air mid speech, Washio getting up instantly to stand by him and proceed, gently draping his shirt across his shoulders to cover him somewhat. “The metalwork caved in on itself. Suffice to say if Saru hadn’t noticed and done what he did, Komi wouldn’t be here.” The elaboration did little to wane Bokuto’s bewilderment, however.

“So… what then?”

 Washio’s eyes narrowed to mere slits, enraged by the memory. “Failure to repair a machine in time resulted in severe punishment. A child who had committed the same act that week never returned to work.”

“… I-I thought they might kill him too.” Sarukui blurted, Washio pulling his head to his chest and offering a tender embrace. “When the guards asked what happened, I-I told them I’d sabotaged it. That I was pissed off.”

“A lie all too easy to believe, coming from him.” Washio mentioned, still attempting to comfort the other. “They then took him away, where we didn’t see him for three days. Komi was distraught, still is to an extent, and who could blame him…”

“So that’s why you didn’t want me to wake him.” Bokuto realised with a hefty sigh, doing anything to try and shift the nauseating sensation wracking his body. “Three days… explains the injuries, but how did you escape?”

“Don’t know. By day two I lost consciousness.” Sarukui’s voice was drained, a mere shadow of his former confident and sarcastic self.

 Any further comments were disrupted by Washio, who ran a hand through his hair lightly. “All things considered this one _is_ lucky… Because Saru annoyed them so much they took their time with the punishment, meaning we could get in and save him before they-… you understand my point… On the third night we broke into the room he was being held in, took him away and ran, ran so much I can’t even recall…”

“It was raining, that night.”

 Both Washio and Sarukui jolted, the latter tensing up upon realising Komi had been anything but asleep amidst their account. Soundlessly he advanced towards them, kneeling down to drape his blanket around Sarukui and take over in soothing him, hushing the light, whimpered protests he produced. “I remember it coming down so heavily, muffling all the yelling and the shots being fired at us whilst he fled... Somehow we ended up in the Maze, where we were found by Futakuchi and Aone. Thankfully they realised we were one of them and hid us in the Roost.”

“I’m sorry… I-I thought you were-”

“Ssh.” Komi tugged the blanket over Sarukui’s head like a hood to give him privacy, and thanks to their position he was able to pull the other to his chest, cuddling him close. Something about it all was rather adorable, strangely intimate for either of the two, quite frankly. “What’s important is that we’re both still alive, no?”

“Mm.” Sarukui’s head dipped in a shallow nod from beneath the blanket, bringing his knees up and leaning snug into Komi’s hold.

 In the meantime Konoha cast a glimpse in Bokuto’s direction, then to the pair huddled up tight, wary of the unstable emotions at hand. “This group wouldn’t exist if it weren’t for you, Saru.”

The bundle beneath the blanket fidgeted some more, Sarukui’s voice gruff and indifferent. “You’re just saying that.”

“I’m not! What was that comment again…?”

“ _If I can’t walk, then I’ll learn to fly_.” Komi highlighted with a warm expression, the memory evidently pleasant. “The injuries to his legs were the worst, so bad in fact we thought he might not walk again... One afternoon however whilst Konoha was talking about his old theatre, and the aerial acrobat group they had, he got inspired and suggested we start up something similar. It sounded crazy at first, even Sugawara and Daichi thought so.”

 The light mumbling from beneath the blanket expressed Sarukui’s disapproval, Komi patting at his head to quieten the complaints. “Regardless, it worked out just fine. Saru may seem a little blunt, rude even, but he’s brilliant with metalwork and construction. Soon enough he’d designed an idea of some apparatus we could use, and the early form of the rope harness we’ve been practicing with today.”

“Really?!” To consider Bokuto impressed would be putting it lightly. “What about the pipework on the ceiling?”

“All his doing too.”

 Amidst their excitement Sarukui’s head had surfaced, eyes narrowed and the usual smile distorted in a rare grimace. “It wasn’t that hard. Anyone else could’ve done it.”

“Don’t be such a prick.” Komi scolded, Bokuto truly questioning their relationship by this point. “The reason the factory guards disliked you so much was because they couldn’t stand the thought of a foreigner being superior. None of them could create what you have.”

“I was also an annoying dick.”

“True.” Komi admitted with a roll of his eyes, his smile failing to slip when he bowed his head to nuzzle their noses together sweetly. “I’ve always liked that about you, though.”

Konoha failed to hide his amusement when Bokuto’s jaw dropped, erupting into a fit of giggles. “They’re together, if you hadn’t noticed. Absolute match made in hell. They’ve even got identical piercings.”

“Huh?”

On cue Komi indicated to his own earlobe, displaying a dent akin to Sarukui’s. “I got this after I kicked a guard in the groin. The bastard was laughing about my height, so I figured I’d show him one of the advantages of it.”

“Oh, yes!”

 Needless to say everyone was pleased when Sarukui’s old self began to show face, having perked up immensely following that account. “I think that’s when you got thrown in the same group as me, right? I remember that well.”

“Mhm.” Without a single care in the world Komi was back to nestling and fussing over his now apparent partner, Konoha clearing his throat loudly in a last ditch effort to sustain Bokuto’s focus. “Okay, the _actual_ point of the matter is that Saru created the equipment we use in our acts. From what you can see he eventually managed to walk again, and here we are today, a bunch of weirdos who hurl themselves through the air for fun.”

“We’re not _all_ weird.” Washio spoke up brusquely, a hand moving to disrupt Konoha’s hair. Despite protests from the other he continued, the abrupt madness about the room giving Bokuto time to think, surprisingly.

“I can see why Mama thought it’d be best I worked here.” He began in a calm tone. “Still… you haven’t explained everything yet.”

“Hm?” Konoha paused to look at Bokuto, he and Washio currently caught in one another’s death grips upon trying to wrestle the man away from his hair. “Oh… you mean him?”

 Fully recovered from his earlier slump, Sarukui was sat upright, proceeding to swig from the whiskey bottle then offer it to Komi. “It’s not our place to discuss his story.”

“That means you all know, right? Why or how Akaashi came to the Roost?” Bokuto pressed, doing his utmost to ignore the fact that Komi had set the bottle aside to tug at the blanket and shirt around Sarukui, gradually exposing his upper body with a pleased hum.

“’Course we do. We’re still not telling.”

“The day you find out has to be from him, not us.” Washio stated, releasing his hold on Konoha to get up from his seat. “Now then, it’s almost dinnertime. We should return to the others.”

 Nobody saw the need to protest, Sarukui putting on his shirt (much to Komi’s obvious dismay) and the two trailing after him to the door. With a jerk of his head Konoha prompted Bokuto to join them, Onaga likewise as they left the Dome, the group crossing the courtyard in silence.

Maybe it was best left at that for now, Bokuto reluctantly established with a yawn; he had heard enough stories for one day.


	6. Glass

Tomorrow was almost at an end.

 A shroud of orange first signalled its closure, bleeding out across bricks and tiles, warm hues seeping into cracks and weaving their way through the streets, leaving cool blue tracks in their wake. Glass clattered in the quiet of the office, rapping on the hardwood desk when Sugawara set a bottle down, sipping from the tumbler in his hand as he surveyed the view outside.

 Mind pensive and distant, he lowered the glass soon enough, a single fingertip tracing the rim. Nothing but the numbing sensation of hopelessness and confusion made sense when he cast himself far away… away from the commotion and bustle of the Roost, grasping at threads in the dark in an effort to still his apprehension.

To think, for one rare part in his commendable career, a plan had failed.

“…What should we do, hm?”

  As predicted, no reply came, prompting Sugawara to turn on his heel, a motion muffled in the plush rug beneath his feet. One leg was placed before the other, cautiously pacing to the nearby armchair where he made to kneel before the figure seated there, eyes turned upwards with all the mustered dignity and reverence possible. “Akaashi… How’re you feeling now?”

 Achingly the figure stirred, head lifting from his hands and shoulders heaving in a careful roll whilst he move to lay back, a small puff of air escaping his lips. “Been worse.” 

Sugawara managed a slight smile at that response, a hand lifting to feel at the other’s forehead, brushing stray hairs aside. “Better than nothing I suppose.”

 “I’m sorry.”

 “Shh, I’m the one who should be apologising.” Sugawara pressed with a voice reassuring and calm, words tumbling from the tip of his tongue like the scrolling clouds outside. “I shouldn’t have been so nosy, prying that information out of Oikawa.” Gently he ushered the glass into Akaashi’s hand. “Now drink, it’ll help the nerves.”

 Giving very little thought to the command Akaashi complied, chugging the shot of liquid with a grimace. Sugawara plucked the tumbler from his hand afterwards, returning it to the desk with a hollow clack.

“I haven’t been affected so badly in a long while… It’s pathetic, really.”

 “No two people are the same.” Sugawara began in earnest. “Oikawa may have made a valid point, but his circumstances subsequent to then have been different to your own.” 

“I normally have much better control though.” Akaashi returned, a hint of desperation straining his words. “I was so angry when I left the Dome. Oikawa brought some relief, eventually… but before I knew it, I lost all grasp of my thoughts, and-… well, here we are.”

 Making to step across the room in contemplation, Sugawara lifted his chin in the direction of the beams above, the droning floorboards beneath his feet stifled by the rug once more. “I’m only grateful I came back to you in time.”

 “Oh please” Akaashi’s hands were thrown up incredulously, “you speak as if I’d have died. It was nothing more than a-”

 “You were having a panic attack.” Deathly stern, Sugawara’s eyes narrowed. “A fairly serious one compared to any in the last year or so, you agreed to that much yourself. The fact remains what do we do about it?”

 “What do you mean?” Following a weighty sigh Akaashi shifted in his seat, leaning forward enough to observe Sugawara.

 “I’m talking about the future. How can you be sure the same thing won’t happen again?” Faster now he paced about, hands clasped behind his back. “Bokuto has only just joined your group, and already there’s trouble.”

 “Don’t blame him. Yes, he said something I’m not entirely pleased about, but still… I… didn’t exactly do much to deserve otherwise.”

 “Regardless, how did it even _come_ to this?!” Sugawara squeezed his eyes shut momentarily, holding his arms up either side of him. “I thought perhaps a new face might help you, all of you, but if it’s no good then I… I might have to-”

 " _Sugawara_.” Gently Akaashi rose from his seat, placing a hand on Sugawara’s shoulder. “The rest of the group are very fond of him, let him stay there.”

 “… Then what about you?” Came the steely response, “How do _you_ feel about him?”

 “I…” Akaashi confessed to having given very little thought to the matter, his hand slipping from Sugawara’s shoulder to return to his side. “I don’t dislike him.”

“Go on.”

 With a soft shake of his head Akaashi wandered to the window, fingers intertwining and fumbling subconsciously. “He seemed nice enough, and he certainly had a way of lifting the group spirits... Though he could be a little grumpy too, not that I helped much there of course.” Reluctantly he let a sigh pass his lips again, eyes closed partway in reflection of earlier events. “To be honest the fault _is_ mine… I hoped, more than anything, he wouldn’t be like those people… With all their leers and passing comments, stealing a look whenever they can…”

“Bokuto _isn’t_ one of those people.”

 “I _know._ That is to say… he doesn’t- _couldn’t_ have known not to behave that way… _”_ Akaashi stressed, brow furrowing when he turned to stare in Sugawara’s direction. “Why else do you think I feel so terrible?”

  There wasn’t much left for Sugawara to do but roll his eyes at that statement. “Akaashi my dear, we need to resolve this matter fast. I suggest you attempt to make amends, if not some conversation, over dinner tonight.” 

“ _Tonight?!”_ Abruptly a nervous laughter wracked through Akaashi’s body, his head flipping from side to side with such fury that the small locks of hair framing his face began to bounce. “I’m afraid I have to decline, but thank you very kindly for the offer. Perhaps another time?”

 “Akaashi-”

  Akaashi refused to be swayed, finding the view outside considerably more pleasant than the topic at hand. “Bokuto made it very clear he doesn’t like me, beyond my looks anyway. Besides, what is there to say? … _Sorry I got a little stressed and slapped you?_ ”

 Sugawara dropped his head back with a moan. “I swear, why are you all so difficult…? I highly doubt he _hates_ you!”

 “Prove it.”

 Sugawara exhaled and returned to the bottle on the desk, pouring a fresh glass of liquor before promptly gulping it down. Now before you jump to conclusions, Sugawara didn’t have a problem with alcohol; he merely required stronger refreshments when dealing with the considerably stubborn sorts. “I honestly feel like a mother sometimes.”

 “You nag like one.” Akaashi retorted with folded arms, frequenting the armchair with a weighty thump. “I am not speaking with that man, nor so much as going within an inch of him. In fact I think it best we both keep our distance, quite frankly.”

 Brilliant, Sugawara noted with an inward groan, on top of all the prior stress, Akaashi was becoming truly uncooperative. Much like Bokuto’s mood swing the Owls witnessed earlier on, this too happened on occasion… Resulting in many a sour remark and glare more often than not caused by Sugawara asking him to socialise, of all things.

“You will meet _;_ I’ll make sure of it.”

“What is this, some kind of matchmaking session?! Spare it, I’m not interested.” Akaashi became beyond ridiculous, any previous qualms set aside and replaced with his typical indifferent personality. Why if it wasn’t for the fact said attitude was sending Sugawara mad, he might have been more aware, if not glad, for the return of Akaashi’s usual self. “ _You_ can go to dinner, and I will return to my room. In fact I shall do so n-”

 

_“Enough, you two!!”_

 Both Sugawara and Akaashi’s heads whirled in the direction of the office door, the shout having come from just beyond. Immediately Sugawara’s face blanched and his voice dripped with dread, a palm rubbing at his face soon after. “It appears we have more troublesome people about…”

 “Seems that way.” Utterly disinterested Akaashi shut his eyes, clearly finding more enjoyment in examining the backs of his eyelids than to speculate the cause of all the fuss outside.

 The yells and what appeared to be cheers only rose over time, resulting in a final laboured breath when Sugawara flung the door open, marching outside. He would resolve the matter swiftly, as ever.

 

 Or so he believed, until all manner of vocabulary became lost in his mind, rendering him speechless.

 

 So far only half of the tables and benches had been set up for dinner, as for the remainder… They were stacked up alongside one another to one corner of the room, several of the Roost's inhabitants having since given up their current task to create a ring around Bokuto and Kuroo, who appeared to be in a rather heated debate.

"How could you be so _stupid_?!” 

“It was an accident ok? I got a little angry!”

“ _A little?!”_ Kuroo tossed his hands to the skies with a cry in disbelief. “You outright insulted someone because they asked you to stop doing something which made them uncomfortable! What kind of asshole does that?!” Shortly he was holding Bokuto’s upper arms, shaking him violently. “Has all that hair wax seeped into your brain and melted it?!”

 

Gradual and seemingly without care, Akaashi’s eyes opened partway, drifting in the direction of the door.

 

“I’m gonna’ go say sorry!!”

“ _When_?!”

 By all means, Daichi was doing his best to contain the fight… Hence it was in a circle. (Truth be told he found the scenario incredibly entertaining, a thought shared by many others in the audience.) With any luck this would result in a quick brawl, the Owls and some of the other spectators seeing fit to place bets in advance on who would win, Kuroo undoubtedly being the unanimous choice. 

Regrettably however, Sugawara did not share in their amusement. Not one bit.

 

“ _Daichi?”_

 To think one word could inspire so much fear… Could manifest a hold fierce enough to freeze the crowd below, and render only the more daring individuals able to turn their heads up in Sugawara’s direction…

“I had this all under control.” Daichi insisted, unable to disguise the nerves that strained his voice. In the meantime Sugawara’s eyebrows rose, waiting for the cluster to silently disperse and resume setting up the room, an action he commended them for internally.

 

_Carefully now…_

 

For the record, five years of leading the Roost had taught Sugawara many a thing. It had increased his sympathy, awareness too, not to mention he could smell a lie in an instant. Needless to say he would not be fooled by the slight shift in the floorboards from behind, and the bare trace of a creak… one which vividly indicated someone’s attempt to make an escape.

 It would not do to ruin the moment _just_ yet, he concluded with a smile, observing Akaashi now crouched down low enough to hide behind the side of the balcony, shuffling along in a desperate bid for the stairs at the far end.

Really, the things people would do…

 

Scratch that, the devil whispered in his ear all too naughtily; one bit of fun wouldn’t hurt.

 

 Noiselessly he crept along, nudging a foot in Akaashi’s side with sufficient pressure to topple him over, gasping dramatically for effect when he landed with a thump. “Oh my goodness, I didn’t see you down there!!”

 _“Ssh!!”_ Akaashi was frantically batting Sugawara away in a fluster, the other looming over with arms outstretched in a bid to pull him from the floor. _“I’m not here!!”_  

“Another fight?” Konoha inquired, joining the rest of the Owls in gawking up at the balcony after they pulled their own table and benches in place.

 

 _“_ _No, come back here!”_

 

 Breaking out into laughter, Konoha glanced perceptively in Sarukui’s direction when an array of bump and knock sounds came from the balcony above, the huddle below only able to watch as Sugawara strode about hurriedly, diving down on occasion out of sight. “I think he’s up there.”

“Who?” Bokuto interjected loudly, Kuroo hurriedly slapping a hand over his mouth to hush him. 

“… Who the hell else, idiot?”

 At some point Sugawara had managed to seize a slim leg, the group noticed with additional amusement, though that too was short lived when Sugawara fell back, assumedly having been tripped up in retaliation.

 

 _“Will you stop being so stubborn_?! _You’re going down there whether you like it or not!”_

“ _Never!”_

 

 With the familiar voice confirming their suspicions the Owls exchanged glances, Washio ascending the balcony stairs stealthily with an affirmative dip of his head. Bokuto meanwhile looked set to hurl himself out of the nearby exit in sheer horror, the colour of his skin having already beaten him to that notion, leaving a pale ruin behind. 

In fact now that he thought about it, that was a rather good plan. (As far as Bokuto’s plans went, anyway.) Only a few meters to run, and he would be free- 

“Don’t even think about it.” Sarukui warned, hooking his arms under Bokuto’s to hold him back. “You guys have to meet at some point.” 

_“Saru, nooooo!!”_

 

“I… didn’t think this place could become any rowdier.”

 Much to the surprise of all, Kenma appeared by Kuroo’s side, he too side-tracked by the chaos. Indeed judging by the hushed whispers and giggling, the rest of the family in the hall were also distracted by the new scene, it certainly kept the people entertained at least. 

 Matching screams in protest came from the balcony and the floor, Akaashi now flung over Washio’s shoulder and kicking about in his hold, Bokuto on the other hand thrashing about and cursing with all the creativity he could summon in Sarukui’s grip below. 

 Before long Daichi was done playing the observer, coming to the sensible conclusion to rescue his partner with an arm looped around his waist to hold him steady. Despite Sugawara’s dishevelled appearance already giving the answer away, he felt the need to express some concern, or so help him th rage might just be targeted his way next. “Are you alright?” 

“He’s… a lot stronger than I took him for...” Sugawara managed with a shaky breath, unable to hide his expression of displeasure, yet enjoyment, when the two disruptive figures were brought together downstairs and promptly shoved opposite one another at the Owl group’s table. 

“I’m not hungry.” Akaashi stated matter-of-factly, about to leave when Konoha yanked him down, he and Washio taking a seat either side. Not that anyone dared to speak it aloud, but all their differences aside, Bokuto and Akaashi did share a terrible childish streak… sulking, for lack of better words.

“I’m hungry but I would like to move seats.” Bokuto insisted, similarly halted when Onaga and Sarukui got themselves settled beside him. It wasn’t so much the sitting that was an issue for either of the grumbling sods, more the fact they were being squashed in the process, the other Owls deeming that the best solution to keep both individuals in place. 

 Scrapes and groans resounded through the hall when all the tables were finally pushed up flush to one another, forming two long rows, with another table tacked on the end to create a large U shape. Down one row sat the Owls, Cats and Plants (the Plants table of which was sparingly occupied for some reason), and along the other was the Crows (who had a huge number of people in comparison) and the girls of the Roost. For all it was worth, Kuroo considered himself thrilled by this turn of events, smirking from behind the safety of Sarukui.

“My, my, what grumpy owls.”

“Shut _up.”_ Bokuto countered, arms tightly folded over his chest and cheeks inflated, soon piping down when an elbow nudged him in the side. Collectively the group drew to a silence as Sugawara and Daichi made their way downstairs, seating themselves at the far end table, no doubt specifically placed so that they can keep watch over the rabble.

 

 Perhaps it was special treatment, Kuroo mused internally, but for some reason Aone and Futakuchi were permitted to sit on that table also, Futakuchi rolling up his sleeves with a pleased hum whilst Aone remained stoic, eyes slowly scanning the hall and temporarily meeting his own stare.

 

“Right… well, that was a different start to dinner.” Daichi began with a laugh, signalling for everyone to look in his direction. “There are a few points we'd like to say before we bring the food out…” 

 Out of habit he gazed in Sugawara’s direction, expecting him to take over as usual. Alas he was pleasantly surprised to see a soft, encouraging smile beckoning for him to continue. “First and foremost I’m sure you’re aware we have two new arrivals to our home.” With an outstretched hand he motioned towards the table closest to him on the left. “Kuroo here is going to start working as a writer for us in the Cat group; meanwhile Bokuto has joined the Owls.”

On cue there came a rabble of greetings, the orange haired boy from before turning fast in his seat to ogle in amazement at Bokuto, who sat directly behind him. “Woooah, so cool!”

“Thanks.” Politely Bokuto moved to return a grin, the boy’s eyes wide and practically sparkling with fascination. Beside him was the dark haired boy whom he had fought with before, his eyes considerably intense in contrast and cheeks flushed, oddly enough.

“N-Naff.”

“He meant ‘nice’.” The other corrected, any further comments ceased when Daichi cleared his throat to resume his speech.

“As I was saying… I think with these two arriving, and all the work you’ve put in so far, it wouldn’t hurt to take a night off and have a celebration-” 

 Immediately the hall burst into cheers, Sarukui and Komi, amongst many others from either side drumming their hands against the table in excitement, sending tremors through the floor. “Are we getting alcohol?!” 

“Of course, of course.” Daichi submitted with a reluctant wave of his hand, barely able to make himself heard above the ruckus. “We have some barrels of beer out back we’ve been savi- Oi!! Quieten down!” 

“Enough, let him speak.” Sugawara spoke up calmly, his composure commanding the crowd to settle. Oh, how Daichi envied that ability…

“Secondly, we’ve received news from our ship. It looks like the boys will be arriving at the port tomorrow, so if we have any volunteers to help move the cargo, that’d be much appreciated.” Sure enough this update swept in another flurry of anticipation, Oikawa in particular inhaling sharply and darting to meet Akaashi’s stare, the two casting one another brief, yet comforting smiles.

 

“Hey… who’re these people?” Bokuto whispered, Kuroo equally intrigued when he leant around Sarukui to listen in. 

“They’re the remainder of the Plants group.” Konoha informed with a gesture in Oikawa’s direction. The man’s expression was one of relief, contentment… why, it was as if he were another person entirely. “They were sent back East to fetch supplies from home.”

“He’s waited a long time.” Akaashi mumbled absent-mindedly, his focus solely upon Oikawa. “That journey isn’t easy... I’m sure he worried a great deal over them.” 

 With a considered hum Komi rested his arms against the table, the shuffle of shoes against the polished floor becoming faint and fog-like in the distance when Daichi called upon the Crow group to assist in fetching the food. “I bet… imagine if our group were asked to do that. I think it’d be sad if we were split up for so long.”

“Depends how long.” Bokuto and Akaashi declared in unison, each dreaded second of their stare off a brick paving the way to unease, crushing the peaceful atmosphere in its entirety.

“…My goodness, we agreed on something.” Akaashi deadpanned, maintaining eye contact even when Washio distributed their drinks. Bokuto merely shrugged to the remark, lifting his drink to his lips and taking a mighty gulp.

“Something tells me that won’t happen often.”

“We can only ho- _ow_!” Jolts of pain shot through Akaashi’s foot, reverberating up through the bone and subsiding around his kneecap. Furious, he ducked to peer under the table and spot the other’s foot, notably the way it waggled close to his own in a teasing wave of sorts. “What was that for?!” 

“What was what?” Bokuto was staring elsewhere with a grin all too fleeting, eyes shooting open wider than ever when the gesture was returned. “Agh!!” 

“Hey, hey, no playing under the table kids.” Konoha teased, only to be met with disappointment when his sly observation fell on deaf ears. Thankfully any of Bokuto’s potential comebacks were cast aside upon spying the abundance of meat joints and vegetables spread out along the table on platters, his eyes following after them as if they were to sprout legs and flee the hall should he turn his gaze away. 

“Amazing.” It was Kuroo’s turn to gawp in wonder, Kenma using a finger to gently shut his sagging jaw and save the man’s remaining dignity. “Do you eat like this all the time?!”

“Of course.” 

 Perplexed, Sarukui arched an eyebrow, the two men either side near on dribbling before the food had a chance to make it to their plates. Needless to say, he was bothered by that admission. “I take it you guys haven’t eaten well in a while…” 

“All the more reason to get stuck in, I say.” Konoha interrupted so as to lift the mood, having risen from the table with a knife in hand (that he wisely avoided giving Bokuto or Akaashi) to carve the meat and distribute it amongst the table. Even between the rare bubbles of laughter, he couldn’t deny the trepidation yanking his innards when he observed the grumpy pair… but no matter, they would have to wait and see how things played out.

 

 Rumbling, churning and spilling out, unshakeable yet soothing heat began to flood the hall. The clatter of cutlery an underlying tune of sorts adrift the lively prattle, reminding Sugawara and Daichi fondly their reasons for creating the establishment in the first place. True, they were a few chicks short of a full nest, but nonetheless those left behind proved capable enough of maintaining the idyllic atmosphere.

 When slight calloused fingers intertwined with his own beneath the table, Sugawara couldn’t resist offering his partner a loving grin and a tender squeeze of their hands. “How’s the food?” 

“Faultless, as ever.”

“You’re not so bad yourself.” The final remark followed on with a peck to Daichi’s cheek, catching him blissfully unaware. "Even if you are rather lenient."

“That’s why I have you to support me.” Daichi made firm to remind his partner whilst grabbing for his drink, tilting back to take a great big guzzle and- 

“Daichi. Those are some peculiar noises.” Unattractive, Sugawara meant to say. Each swallow and slosh of the liquid caused him to grimace and carefully untangle their hands in a bid to make distance. Having done so however, moreover acknowledged Daichi’s pure bewilderment; he came to understand the noises were not his partner’s doing, but someone else’s.

 

Someone but one table away, scoffing and slurping like a rabid animal starved for days.

 

 Nothing but regret and shame and oh- _awfulness_ came over Kuroo when the gruesome sounds turned relentless, his careful gaze drifting to the culprit in question. “Bo _._ Please stop that… _”_

“Mnngh?” Cheeks stuffed to the brim, Bokuto whipped his head in Kuroo’s direction, a strip of meat previously stuck to the corner of his mouth landing quite neatly upon Sarukui’s plate in the process. Thank all the divine beings combined Sarukui was a relaxed sort, his only response being a snort and a mental reminder to avoid that specific piece when he continued to eat. Understandably his patience was not shared, specifically by the man sat opposite the offender, whose stare (were he to will it hard enough) could hopefully burn some common sense into the fool.

“Eat _quietly_.” Akaashi asserted, claiming Bokuto’s attention and a matching glare to his own. In a brief, welcomed silence Bokuto swallowed the mouthful to reply.

“Apologies, your highness. I hope I haven’t put you off your meal.” 

“Not yet, you’re getting close though.” Finding no benefit to this line of conversation Akaashi switched topic, his knife digging into a cut of meat with more effort than necessary. “How was the rest of your training?”

“Training?” Bokuto arched an eyebrow before gulping more of his beer, making sure to create as much noise possible whilst doing so. “Oh, that. Didn’t bother, we got talking to one another, you know, getting along.” 

“Splendid. I’m pleased for you.”

“Right?” When Akaashi’s stare bore down upon his plate in disinterest, Bokuto took it upon himself to nudge the other beneath the table with his foot. “Pray tell, what did you get up to in the meantime?” 

“ _Guys, please._ ” Komi groaned from the other end of the table, banging his forehead to the wood with a hefty whack. “How long are ya’ gonna’ keep this up?” 

Granted, Komi made an excellent point. The petty rally of insults did little to improve the mood of the cluster, nor lower Sugawara’s pointed, knowing glare. Chest puffing momentarily, Bokuto released a large huff of air, “I will stop when he does.” 

“I shall do so when he apologises, at the very least.” Content with his fill of food Akaashi set his cutlery down, permitting Washio to scoop the plate up as he went about collecting everyone’s dishes. His proposal in the meantime met with a scoff, Bokuto’s eyes reeling backwards.

“Apologise for _what_ , exactly?"

 Kuroo did not want to be hearing this, nor did anyone else apparently, noting how the rest of the group busied themselves with tidying up around the pair. For better or worse, the resounding scrape and groans of furniture muffled their debate to an extent, rendering it barely audible to those whom it did not concern.

“You know what.”

“No.” Bokuto leant in across the table. “I might’ve said some harsh things, but it doesn’t change the fact _you_ were rude to me and-”

 Bokuto was never to conclude that sentence, eyes wavering in fear when a figure approached them both, hands slowly making their way to slender hips. 

“Bokuto, Akaashi…” 

“Mama.” The pair straightened up, conjuring blatant false smiles at his arrival. “What can we do for you?”

 

Goodness… did they take Sugawara for a fool?

 

“Nothing much, I thought I’d check on my little owlets now that they’ve made up.” Sugawara began, one foot in front of the other whilst he paced to stand behind a reasonably apprehensive Akaashi, placing both hands upon his shoulders. “It wouldn’t do to find out you’re still at each other’s necks, you know, constantly arguing… bringing down the mood of the rest of your group... It’d be terrible.”

“I whole heartedly agree.” Akaashi’s reply was firm, and dare Bokuto say it, almost believable. Clearly the man had a talent in persuasion. “In fact Bokuto and I were just saying how good it is to set our differences aside and focus on working together.” 

“Were we?” Bokuto interrupted with a blank expression, Akaashi staring with lifted brows, nodding profusely.

“Yes. _We were._ ” 

No, Bokuto was not following at all. All he could think about was the frequent nudging against his leg beneath the table, and Akaashi’s desperation to convey some kind of message, judging by his weird mannerisms and constant arching eyebrows. His eyes had grown strangely wide, (for him at least) and why, it was almost humorous.

 Sugawara’s hands applied a little pressure to Akaashi’s shoulders in the meantime, though not enough to hurt, mind you. It served as a firm warning overall, Akaashi resigning himself to fate (assuming any of them believed in such a thing) with the return of his usual unmoved expression. “Bokuto doesn’t seem to recall this conversation. You’re not lying to me… are you?”

Oh, how that steely glare grew intense… Were it not for the fact he was still fairly distracted by that pretty face, Bokuto might’ve fled there and then. “Yes.”

 The snap in Akaashi’s mind was very nearly audible, reeling through a flurry of emotions before settling upon one of absolute, definitive outrage, clenching a fist against the table. 

“I mean no!” Bokuto exclaimed. “No! He is not lying… We are…”

 It would’ve been much easier to maintain this façade if Akaashi wasn’t murdering him with his eyeballs, Bokuto confessed inwardly. Nonetheless Sugawara was far from stupid, his hands leaving Akaashi’s shoulders to sit flat against the surface when he moved to the head of the table, leaning in close. “Boys… I must be honest, this is an issue. A very big one.”

 With a soft shake Akaashi bit his lip. “Please, no-”

“ _Don’t.”_ The typically mild, friendly voice turned dark. “I blame myself. You must be stressed; as such it is my responsibility to see that your health is placed first.” Gradually his eyes met Akaashi’s. “I propose you take a little break of sorts from the live performances. It’s not… a complete ban, per se, you’ll still be allowed to practice…”

“ _Mama!_ ”

 The protest fell short, much to Akaashi’s horror, Bokuto on the other hand composed as ever. “Ok well that means I’ll be getting a new teacher, right? In which case sure, works for m-”

“I’m banning you both.” Sugawara concluded coolly, a smile slowly stretching across his features. “You’re equally to blame in this, therefore both are you are excluded from the main shows until I am certain you can get along, and by that I mean sustain a conversation _without_ arguing.”

 To say Bokuto was shocked would be a massive understatement, Akaashi at least taking some joy in having the other man dragged down with him. “B-But I only just got here!”

“True, and now that you are a member of the family you must remember: if I need to discipline, I will. No matter how much it pains me to do so.” With an eerie calm he placed a hand upon each of their heads, patting softly. “Oh, and if you’d be so kind to drop by my office tomorrow I’d appreciate it. I have some tasks that need doing, and since you two just earnt yourself a _lot_ of free time, you’ll help me out, won’t you?” 

“Yes.” Their voices were tense, submissive, a single word rung out from the figurative cloth with an apt twist from Sugawara. Pleased with his efforts he stood back, offering another smile before taking his leave. “Enjoy the party, hm?"

 

 Sure enough the festivities were well under way, Bokuto came to realise when the chatter and excitement blurred into focus, beer and various other alcoholic beverages being passed about. The music ringing throughout was dim and unclear in Akaashi’s ears for now, his mind struggling to concentrate on anything but potentially throttling the man opposite with his bare hands. “Hey…”

 Bokuto had a hand at the back of his neck, rubbing it in a vigorous half massage of sorts. “I am scared to answer, but yes?”

This wouldn’t do.

 Tapping Bokuto’s leg some more with his foot, Akaashi moved in, determined to clutch his attention. “When I look at you with a face you don’t quite recognise, yet _possibly_ implies you should play along with what I’m saying… why, pray tell, do you decide _not_ to co-operate?”

“What…?” Bokuto threw his hands up with a grunt. “I’m sorry how the heck was I supposed to know that you wanted something? I do not speak the Akaashi ‘let’s raise our eyebrows really weirdly’ language.”

“It was obvious!” Or, at least Akaashi liked to think it was. “You knew Sugawara was angry, so surely the only solution would have been for us to-” 

“Blatantly lie our way through it?” Bokuto jeered, an elbow propped against the table. With a sound in anguish Akaashi held his head in his hands, eyes squeezed shut.

“Do you have _any_ clue how serious this is? What good are we as performers if we’re banned?!”

 Maybe it was the underlying crush Bokuto still upheld towards the other, or the fact he was genuinely- no… a _fraction_ guilty for his part in these events, that he leant in as well, the tone of his voice calm in a bid to provide some support. “Mama said it won’t be forever, besides… there’s a way around it-”

“No!” Abruptly Akaashi rose to his feet, unfazed when someone plucked the bench away, eager to tidy up the rest of the dinner furniture. “You and your plans can stay well away from me.” 

“Argh… Where are you going? At least let me explain?!” Bokuto snapped whilst rising from his own seat, too distracted to thank whoever thrust a beer in his hand during that moment.

“Forget it. _I_ am going to drink and try to enjoy myself, _without_ your ‘help’.” Soon enough Akaashi was off, seizing a drink from Konoha before promptly stomping his way to the other end of the hall, vanishing amidst the sea of heads.

 

“Oho…” 

 Not one to turn down any opportunity to mock, Kuroo gracefully slinked up to stand beside Bokuto, clanking their glasses together with a sly ‘cheers’. “You sure picked a feisty one.” 

“Bro, shut _up_.”

 Bokuto was tired, Bokuto was pissed, and above all feeling exceptionally rotten considering the night had only just begun. It was a sentiment kindly acknowledged by his good friend however, who draped an arm about his shoulders and ushered him towards a nearby cluster of people. “Come, we have a lot of drinking to catch up on.”

  

“… I believe I win again.”

“ _Dammit all_!!”

 A clatter and series of thumps signalled another eventful card game, Kuroo tossing his hand (both literal and card form) to the table with a groan, several others following suit. The disappointment was felt by all bar Kenma, who clutched his winning hand with an impish smile. Heaven knows how or when it came about, but Kenma had changed a great deal in Kuroo’s absence. First of all, he had transformed into some poker genius. Not just poker, now that Kuroo thought about it… any game they played resulted in his victory. 

“I call cheeeat.” Bokuto slurred, considering Kuroo a suitable leaning post whilst he chugged the last of his fifth… sixth- no, seventh beer. Maybe. “Or maybe bro is shiiit.” 

“Bo I will smack you something fierce if you don’t keep it down.” Alright, perhaps that was a bit harsh. “Anyway enough of that-” Quickly his eyes scanned the room, spying the larger crowd nearby. “What’re they up to?” 

“Arm wrestling. Really makes the boys feel good about themselves… Like they’re _real_ men.” A resounding laugh followed that comment, a woman with short blonde hair slapping her hand to Kuroo’s back. “Perhaps you can give my brother a match? I’m sure he’d like the challenge!”

“Your brother?” Well, this was news to Kuroo. Proudly the woman gestured to one of her fellow Crows, the loudmouth baldy in fact. “That one. He loves a game of strength.” 

“Sure. Who’s currently u-”

 A loud curse and bang answered Kuroo’s question, the crowd ahead parting to let Sarukui tumble out, Komi following so as to try and help him up again. (Try being the key word, considering the shorter man was caught in a fit of giggles.) “Too bad, looks like no one can beat Aone at this game!”

In a befitting act of kindness the victor himself wandered over, plucking the disorientated Owl from the floor. “Sorry.” 

“No need to apologise friend! You got a good arm!” Sarukui laughed the matter off heartily; taking a swig from the bottle Komi produced all of a sudden, the whiskey from earlier, in fact.

 On further observation it appeared that Daichi was well aware of his alcohol theft by now, but cared little for it, assisting in keeping Sarukui upright and even holding his bottle momentarily for good measure. He did however feel pangs of dismay when Sarukui let his head lay upon his shoulder, cooing in his ear. “You’re so kiiind.” 

“And you’re so drunk.” Daichi grumbled wearily, “There was no way you’d beat Aone, even when sober.”

“Meean! I’m telling Suga!”

 

“Children.” Oikawa laughed through his nose, his gaze engrossed on Kuroo’s group whilst they made their way to the wrestling table, ready and eager to participate. In a graceful act he slid one leg over the other, feet propped on the small rung of the stool whilst he braced an elbow against the table. It was small, yet high, one of several items of furniture Sugawara had purchased for their audience to sit upon whilst having a drink. Or several in their case.

“Ugh, he’s there.”

 Following another snort Oikawa glanced to the man on the other side of the table, his hostile expression merely worsening over time. “Akaashi, be nice.”

“I’ve had an _awful_ day!” Akaashi replied uncharacteristically loud, cheeks inflating whilst he leant against his arm on the table. His eyes never left the rowdy group ahead, Bokuto’s cheers and taunts towards Kuroo ringing in his ears most irritably… far too distinguishable amidst the noise. No matter, with any luck some more alcohol would render him deaf.

 

Yes, Akaashi thought that a rather pleasant notion indeed.

 

 Quietly Oikawa took the hint to distract him, producing a bottle of spirits which he uncorked, filling their glasses up generously. “I know, but let’s forget about that hmm? There’s much reason to celebrate.”

“ _You_ have reason to celebrate.”

“Perhaps.” Oikawa noted with a sheer look of joy, to the point his eyes shone with anticipation. “I can’t wait. It really has been so long, I thought something might happen on their journey and he’d-”

 A cheeky hum tore him away from those thoughts, Akaashi sending a knowing glance then guzzling his drink down in one, the glass set down upon the table with a proud clunk. “Next please.” 

“Really, now… I can’t say I’ve ever seen you so passionate before.” 

“Passion is a word reserved for pleasant, positive emotions, of which I currently feel none.” Despite wishing to correct Akaashi on the matter, Oikawa resisted, permitting the muttering sod to continue. “I feel nothing but bitterness and irritation and an abundance of other negative emotions which fail to establish quite how fed up I am. I know nothing beyond the fact I am miserable.” 

“Ah, there’s the Akaashi I know.” Oikawa laughed, finally pouring the man another drink, that too disappearing swiftly down his throat. “I think you should take the drinking easy though…”

“On the contrary,” Akaashi droned, waggling a finger in Oikawa’s face before tapping him on the nose. “It is a wonderfully numbing substance, alcohol. Let it be known whoever created the stuff should be applauded. I will congratulate them myself even!”

“You do that…”

 

 Another roar of celebration, and the next loser toppled out… Bokuto, of all people, Akaashi acknowledged with a giggle. Seeing the need to toast that occasion he raised his glass to his lips for the third time in a matter of minutes, frowning when it proved just as empty as the first and second time. Eyes rolling, Oikawa tilted the bottle over his glass, letting it fill to the brim once more.

 

 Thunderous, yet exhilarating, the energy within the hall merely rose by the hour, dark shades bleeding across the skies and casting a definitive shadow as night finally came. Many a beverage was shared adrift the wash of contrasting red and gold interiors, many laughs and many, many delighted smiles. Truly, Kuroo pondered in his drunken daze, this was a wonderful place. 

 The sudden bump to his shoulder alerted him to Bokuto’s presence; the two now slumped against a wall close by, legs stretched out across the floor. “Hanging in there, bro?”

“Mnnn.” Came the brief, albeit informative response. Bokuto’s eyes were glazed over in a pleasant stupor, and a dumb grin plastered over his face. “Fan-fucking-tastic.” 

“Regret leaving Morne?” Kuroo inquired cheekily, earning a booing from the other. Thankfully, the blissful clutch of booze rendered him senseless, moreover blind to the hair wax Bokuto was rubbing against his cheek when he shifted about to get comfortable. 

“Heck no! I have nooo regrets whatsoever. I am, in fact, the least regretful person of all regretness. The King of Regretness!” Suitably snug, Bokuto released a puff of air, his chest heaving as he did so.

A ridiculous statement surely earned a judging gaze; Kuroo determined when he made to reply. “Never become a writer, your grasp of any language is terrible. You know the last word doesn’t even exist, right?” 

 Of course Bokuto knew, maybe. “I wish your attitude and wordiness didn’t exist, stupid writer person who is not stupid because I am happy you are a friend and whatever.” The rest of his retort trailed off into the bottom of his glass whilst he drank, never to be heard again. 

 No doubt the alcohol had made them all sensitive, mushy… plain soppy even, Kuroo soon sporting a rare, peaceful appearance unlike his standard mocking self. His gaze was turned upwards, wandering, but not necessarily taking anything in. 

“I’m a happy man. Didn’t think I’d say it, but I am- hey!!” He let out a cry in disgust upon noticing the idiot now dribbling on his shoulder, the offending bodily fluid seeping into his shirt and producing a tremble in outrage. “Gross bastard!” A simple shove sent Bokuto flailing, beer sloshing and splashing over them both, Sugawara swiftly intervening to dab at them both with some cloths. 

“Play nicely.” A gentle motion of Sugawara’s head signalled to some of the Crows nearby, Daichi scooping the orange haired boy (Hinata, they soon learnt) up in his arms and nodding back at his partner. “Better put these ones to bed.” 

“Please.”

 

 It was somewhere around that point that the two grasped the concept of time, the clock mounted upon the nearby wall indicating that their party had successfully rolled on for a good couple, okay several, hours. The handful of (vaguely) sober individuals were tasked with collecting their own and safely putting them to bed when the early morning hours crept in, Yaku having appeared to do just that for Kuroo, in spite of his questionable height. In Bokuto’s case he was greeted by the ever reliable Washio, the man deeming it best to haul him upright and lead him outside, grumbling in amusement to whatever drunken ramblings the other was conjuring. Needless to say the atmosphere remained vibrant, repeated outbursts of laughter and exceptionally loud conversation going on about all parts of the hall when many others struggled to stand or so much as take a step before landing on their arse.

 

 “I think we had best head off to bed ourselves,” Oikawa suggested, pushing the empty bottles together in a neat bundle on their table. An unenthusiastic grunt indicated Akaashi’s agreement on the matter, his eyes narrowed, as ever, whilst he sat upright on the stool.

“Absolutely. You have a big day ahead of you after all.”

 “Indeed! It won’t do to have huge bags under my eyes for such an important reunion.” With a high-spirited tone Oikawa left his seat to laugh, waving when Konoha wandered over to join them. “Now come along, your help awaits.” 

“I require no such thing.” Akaashi insisted, shooing Konoha back with one hand, the other clutching the table in a death grip. “I am an able bodied sort. Exceptionally capable and quite ready to-”

 _Smack_. 

Hit the floor, apparently, neither man knowing whether to laugh, cry or scream in outright astonishment when Akaashi became devoid of movement. This was a rare sight indeed…

“… He’s all yours.” Oikawa eventually spoke up, patting Konoha’s shoulder before making a hasty exit. Of course, Konoha conceded, he of all people would be picking up the literal pieces of their family. Washio and Onaga were nowhere to be seen, although on second thoughts it seemed likely they too were currently preoccupied with lugging the others to their rooms.

 To some relief Akaashi finally uttered a moan, rolling onto his back to exhibit his brilliantly reddened nose and cheeks (which may or may not have been a result of the alcohol abuse itself, Konoha contemplated). It wasn’t that he enjoyed seeing the poor sod in pain, oh no, he was simply grateful to find him alive… if that’s what you could call his current state of affairs. 

“... I meant to do that.”

“Course you did.”

 

 


	7. Paper

 Whilst it shamed him to confess as much, this was not the first time Bokuto had woken up in a strange location.

 Steady and cautious, he slipped his legs out from the warmth of the bedsheets he found himself within, and planted both feet firmly upon the floorboards below. He wriggled his toes over and over, feeling every groove and knot in fascination before noticing a note upon the bedside table to his left.  

 According to the slip of paper, the reasonable, comfortable bedroom he had awoken in was now his. His bag was propped up against the desk in the corner of the room, and atop its surface sat a lone, tall glass bottle. A welcome gift from the others, the note additionally informed him. At the bottom of the note Bokuto found a crudely drawn floorplan, which he acknowledged for a moment before sounding a harsh squawk.

There were seven floors in the Dorms, and as luck would have it, Bokuto would be living at the very top whether he liked it or not. Each floor of the dorms, he soon learnt, was home to a group within The Roost, and whilst it might have helped to learn the plan thoroughly, Bokuto only had interest for the floor below, where Kuroo apparently resided. He half hoped Kuroo was directly beneath his room, so that he might hurl things at him from above, but that was a plan for another day. 

 Mustering up a great deal of effort he ran a comb through his hair, copious globs of wax moulding it back into place quite nicely. That, coupled with the additional brief change of clothing, turned the dishevelled soul into an almost, just almost, presentable human being. One who had _not_ gotten himself sloshed something silly the night before.

 Recollection of the party brought a smile to face; the arm wrestling (even if he did fare terribly at that), the alcohol, and of course seeing his dear friend happy at last…

He also wondered how many sore heads there would be this morning.

 A final glimpse to the note gave him sufficient information to garner his overall location, more importantly the fact that there was a kitchen on each floor, and boy he intended on going there. Even when pacing to the door he stole a glance or two at the slip of paper, absent minded when he barely made a few steps out before toppling to the ground with a mighty crash and a curse, golden eyes acknowledging the final sentence in displeasure.

_‘Mind the pipes.’_

 If it wasn’t for the note telling him otherwise, Bokuto would have assumed he’d wandered into a curiosity shop, not a hallway. Ropes of various kinds were draped across the ceiling, looping and twisting through one another in a snake-like fashion. Thanks to Bokuto’s negligence, pipes were scattered and rolling about the dark floorboards, clattering against one another when they settled close by, knocking over a few empty bottles here and there as they went.

 His room, for the record, sat at the very end of the hall, another door like his own situated opposite. This pattern continued for a good length of the walkway, implying that this area was specifically allocated for sleeping purposes, and that all the rooms further down were bedrooms of a similar size.

 Adopting considered footing this time he progressed along the hallway, a hand feeling at the wall for support and head darting when some ropes hung down particularly low, alongside a chain or two (the latter he dare not question the need for). Of course, he admitted with a fond smile, there was no denying the culprit of this… mess.

“Oops, looks like you found them.”

 By the powers of all the unearthly beings combined, Bokuto swore his heart almost burst when a voice rang into his left ear. With a whip of his head in that direction he spied Komi leaning against the doorframe, sporting folded arms and a satisfied grin. “Sorry, didn’t mean to scare you either.”

Scared wasn’t the word, not by a long shot. Collecting himself with a shaky breath, Bokuto straightened up; his palm leaving the wall beside the doorframe when he felt confident his legs wouldn’t give way. “M-Morning… Didn’t think anyone else would be awake.”

“Actually, you woke me up.” Komi informed without a trace of spite to his voice. “I didn’t go too wild with the booze last night, so it doesn’t bother me.”

“And the others?”

 Very much attached to his little family, Bokuto naturally made to inquire their health. Komi simply offered a widening smirk in reply, stepping aside to gesture to the heap of limbs tangled within the bedsheets, a ruffle of dark hair surfacing at the far end. “Dead to the world, that one.”

 _Oh..._ A bizarre blush crept up on Bokuto’s cheek. Hell knows why; after all... it made sense for a couple to share a bed, right?

 Apparently Komi could mind read, or something to that extent, signalling to the door opposite. “That there is my old room, Saru now uses it as a studio.” Slowly his eyes made to stare down the hall, noting the pipes dotted about. “If you’re a clumsy sort I’d avoid going in there, save us all the trouble of cleaning up more than we need to. Also he can get rather stroppy if you move his stuff.”

“Speaking from experience?” Bokuto mused.

The grin on Komi’s face never faltered. “I like to change things up if he gets on my bad side... Teaches him a lesson.”

 _Ah…_ Bokuto reflectively paused. _Note to self, don’t wind Komi up._

Nodding profusely, he swiftly cleared his throat, somewhat apprehensive when a weary groan came from the bed. “Well, I shall leave you two to it. I’m gonna’ grab something to eat.”

“Sure. Head to the door just past the stairs, that’ll take you to the living room and kitchen.” Komi felt the need to clarify, soon turning on his heel to fuss over the complaining mess on his bed. Grateful, Bokuto took his leave; Sarukui’s pained mutterings fading into the distance under a blanket of adorable quips from his partner.

 One… two… three doors down, he came to an entrance leading to a decent sized bathroom, the tiles white in colour and not a single hint of mould in sight, he took delight in noticing. Opposite that was the staircase in question, and just ahead the aforementioned door to all things promising and food-like.

 

“Ah… wondered when you’d be getting up.”

 Upon entering the kitchen Bokuto gave a curt nod in Washio’s direction, the scent of eggs and toast and oh _yes_ bacon violently surging up into his nostrils, reminding him to keep his mouth closed or so help him he may begin to drool. “That smells amazing.”

“Take a seat,” Washio pressed in a fatherly fashion, displaying some pride in that compliment. “I’ll bring some over when it’s ready.”

By no means was Bokuto going to turn down such enticing food, and so he gladly heaved a chair out from under the table, plopping himself down beside Onaga with a thump. “Hey. Good sleep?”

“It was, thanks. I hope you’re not suffering too much from last night’s fun?” Onaga replied politely, taking the time to look away from his newspaper to do so. Yes, he was a very nice sort, Bokuto determined. Friendly, accommodating, and generally pleasant to be around. On second thought, both men, Konoha too, were probably the easier folk to deal with out of the Owl group.

 Bearing no shame when he did so, Bokuto flashed a grin. “Nah I’m fine. Been a long time since I partied that hard though!” His laughter was stifled by a gasp in awe when Washio eventually slid a plate in front of him, accompanied by a cup of coffee.

“I gave you extra bacon. You seem to prefer eating meat overall, if yesterday’s dinner was anything to go by.”

“Thank you so much!”

 Taking said dinner into account, Bokuto tried his best to eat breakfast with composure, an act the other two were inwardly grateful for. “Where’s Konoha?”

“Asleep.” Onaga chose to answer when Washio occupied himself with tidying the kitchen. “He was up the latest of us three.”

 Golden eyes flickered at that comment, Bokuto swallowing a mouthful before smirking. “How bad did he get then?”

“He was sober as anything.” Washio interrupted, scrubbing at the nearby counter with a cloth. “I take it you don’t recall I was the one who helped you to your room?”

 _Oh…_ Bokuto shook his head sheepishly. “Sorry, hope I wasn’t too much trouble.”

“Nah… There were worse people.”

 Onaga’s hasty nod from behind the newspaper served to emphasise Washio’s point. “Both Komi and I combined just about got Saru upstairs. He’s a very lively drunk.”

Yeah, Bokuto assumed as much. Only, that didn’t leave very many options left for Konoha to have pandered over… in fact it left just one.

“Akaashi…?”

Both men exploded into laughter, Washio even having to pause for a moment to wipe a stray tear from the corner of his eye. “I… I’ve never seen such a display.”

“Dare I ask what happened?” Bokuto’s eyes shifted from each person in turn, Onaga managing to compose himself with a quivering intake of air, hands crumpling the newspaper slightly.

“He… well, it took poor Konoha a good half hour to get him up to this floor.”

Sounds about right, Bokuto thought, they were at the very top after all.

“Thing is, he didn’t want to come here. Konoha had to drag him about because the idiot wanted to go to the Dome instead and sit on the roof.”

“ _What?!”_

Alright, that sounded ridiculous.

 Settled at last, Washio made to intervene. “Up in the rafters there’s a hatch leading to the roof, he likes to go up there from time to time when he needs to clear his head. Of course, three in the morning is not the time for such activities. For the record I had you tucked into bed by about quarter to three, which all in all wasn’t too bad.”

 Suddenly Bokuto felt akin to a proud child, grinning at the fatherly owl figure. “I think that’s a record for me, actually!” When his eyes scrolled to the clock on the wall his head dipped in contemplation. Assuming it was in working condition, the current time was eleven o’ clock. “Perhaps we can drag him out of bed and into the city, they said they need helpers for the cargo right?”

“Don’t.”

 It was only once Onaga looked to Washio, and two sets of eyes lay upon Bokuto thereafter, that he realised he might have said something wrong. On instinct his body began to curl and shrink into a metaphorical shell, shoulders hunched up about his ears. “Um, is there a problem?”

 For a short while Washio concluded his cleaning, taking the time to meticulously fold the cloth he was using in half. Onaga meanwhile straightened out the creases of his newspaper, before setting it down on the table in silence. “Akaashi… doesn’t cope well out there. In the two years he’s been with us, I’d reckon he’s only left the Roost four- maybe five times at most.”

“And one of those times he barely left the front door, so I doubt it even counts.” Onaga mentioned glumly.

 Many things had sounded mad to Bokuto that morning, but above all… this one seemed the worst.

“H-How can you…? I mean it looks such a nice place!” Voice bubbling with passion he shook his head. “I can’t even imagine-… no, wait… I can.” All too soon his intensity dimmed, words leaving his lips like the slow, heavy drip of water. “Only the Crows have been spared from a bad experience here, right…? So of course, _of fucking course_ …!” Teeth were gritted, a low growl seeping out whilst Bokuto rubbed a palm to his face.

“I take it you understand.” Washio stated whilst he moved about the kitchen, “there’s a reason he, like yourself, fit in well with our group.”

 Bokuto got it, even if he was tempted to beat himself up for not noticing anything sooner. A brief scuffling of shoes and Onaga’s chair tore him from further unproductive thoughts however, eye level rising to note the two men whilst they headed to the doorway.

“We’ve offered to help the group at the port, so we need to be on our way. Feel free to have some more food hm?”

“Thanks.” The single word rolled out in a humble drone. Eyelids drooping partway, he concentrated on the sunlight coursing its way through the window, its brilliance muffling the footsteps that trailed down numerous flights of stairs, and the cheery greetings from those further below as they went.

 Bokuto didn’t feel like succumbing to those pleasing emotions. There was only one thing to do, and with any luck, it was the right thing too.

 

 Boisterous, grating yet joyous yells rung clear through the air, fighting for place over one another and echoing from all four walls of the Hall…  And why, if Kuroo didn’t know better, he would have assumed the Roost was a zoo.

 No amount of partying could put a stopper on the energy of the establishment, notably the Crows, an abundance of which were loud and very much proud, as always.

“Just what are we waiting for again?” He breathed, arms stretching above his head. The complaint fell on deaf ears to all bar Yaku, who could only agree with him on the matter.

“Sugawara and Daichi have to take note of who will be leaving the Roost, for safety measures.”

 _Fair enough._ Kuroo gathered with a half-hearted shrug, his arms dropping down to his sides. The Roost did seem to prioritise its security. Interestingly enough however, it looked as if Aone and Futakuchi were to tag along on this brief outing, probing another stimulating point. “Say… if they’re coming too, who’s gonna’ watch the door?”

“It doesn’t really need anyone to keep watch because it has a unique locking mechanism built in place, for instance there’s-”

“Another door. Which opens when a specific part of the ironwork is moved.” Kuroo interrupted, cutting Yaku off dumbfounded.

“Yes. I take it that’s the entrance you used?”

 Kuroo answered with a mere nod of his head, glancing in the direction of the bosses muttering furiously amongst themselves.

“ _Two,_ Daichi. Two Owls out a possible _seven_ have shown up _._ ”

“Dearest you saw how bad some of them were last night… What else did you expect?”

 Massaging at Sugawara’s shoulders gently Daichi gave a reassuring hum, doing his best to ease his partner’s concerns. “Leave them be, hm? Besides I…” Slowly his gaze rose to examine the rabble, some of the Crows engaging in a play fight of sorts, “I have more than enough helpers, believe me.”

 Regardless of his efforts, Sugawara frowned whilst he read over the list of names once, twice and a final, third time. “Very well. I may just discuss the matter with them later.”

“Alright.” Briefly Daichi leant round, planting a soft kiss on his lips before stepping back. “We’d best be off, at any rate.”

 Sugawara agreed to that much, watching fondly whilst Daichi clapped his hands together, beckoning for the attention of all. Immediately the gathering responded, lining up neatly in their groups. For anyone concerned, the group hadn’t suddenly developed a strong respect for their boss… Oh no… Having predicted all manners of hell should such unruly souls be let loose upon Vol, Sugawara took it upon himself to give them a stern warning in advance to behave, or so help them… well, that part was irrelevant. The only thing worth knowing was that it did the trick.

 Following another command they proceeded to leave, Sugawara laughing merrily when he spied an awkward Oikawa lagging behind, trying to sneak a peek at himself in a nearby mirror.

“Your hair looks perfect, just go already.”

“T-Thank you!”

Kuroo couldn’t resist snorting at the sight of Oikawa skipping past in a hurry, making his way to the front to walk between the safety of Aone and Futakuchi. “Look at him… it’s like we’re escorting royalty. He’s got his own body guards and everything!”

“He has his reasons.” Yaku mused to entertain a second laugh from the other man.

“ _Everyone_ seems to have their reasons here.” Alright, perhaps it was time to tone down on the attitude… even so, Kuroo liked to believe he had a valid point. When a childish grin surfaced he gazed downwards. “What about you? I sure hope you’ve got someone to keep you safe. Just in case, you know?”

 Assuming Kuroo could read people as well as he thought, the man below (in every sense of the word) bore not only a short height, but fuse also... And oh, those sorts were so much _fun_ to provoke…

 No matter. Whilst unimpressed to hell and back by that implication, Yaku simply returned the confident smirk, an outcome Kuroo hadn’t quite predicted. On cue a reasonably- scratch that, _incredibly_ tall man appeared by Yaku’s side, one of the mixed blood siblings, Kuroo realised. “I have Lev. He may appear a little… odd, and can say some very stupid things… but, he makes up for it in other ways.”

 _My, My… The lion and the tiny cat mistress…_ Kuroo’s grin grew wider and wider when he observed their brief romancing, Lev stooping down to receive a peck on the lips. _Who’d have thought?_

_Steady… one step at a time…_

 In the solemn quiet Bokuto trod with heavy footsteps, wading through every ounce of trepidation wracking his body as if the hallway was flooded with tar. The back of his mind had an awful habit of reeling in such times, for example he was currently obsessed with the notion of punishment, execution… and whether or not this experience was something akin to a man walking to the gallows.

 _Go to the far end of the hallway_ , Komi had instructed on their second passing, Bokuto clutching the tray in his hands in a vice-like grip as he made to comply. Of course it would be there. Where else would the destination in question be but opposite his very own room? Truly, luck was never on his side…

 A light rap on the door… yes, that would suffice. A single, delicate knock upon the wood, and he would enter. After that was the task of somehow keeping the peace, and then-  

_BANG._

“ _Shit_!” Forget that plan.

 Scrambling and clattering about in a bid to keep everything on the tray, Bokuto’s breaths became ragged. Somewhere during the attempt to knock he had stumbled, thumping his head against the door instead. Honestly… he cursed his luck, or lack of, to the skies and far beyond, assuming there was anything else past that point.

 What proved more important in that instant, he acknowledged with a slight smile, is that no reply came. No trace of bitterness, snarky comments, nothing!

_Maybe he’s still asleep…?_

 With a great deal more tact and confidence, Bokuto slowly turned the handle and nudged the door ajar, slipping into the room and releasing a faint whistle when he did so. Wide eyes gradually surveyed the area, drifting over piles and piles of books which led, in a maze-like fashion, onwards to a series of heavy, draping fabrics. If the hallway before hadn’t been enough, now he really felt like he was in a weird shop of sorts…

 Carefully he pushed the first curtain aside, the hooks complaining against the metal rail above with a light screech. Not wishing to cause further disruption and hideous sounds, he opted for holding back the next two drapes, of which were lighter in weight, stepping past them before reaching another stash of books. In all honesty, Bokuto hadn’t expected any less. Okay, there was more clutter than he anticipated, but the very sight of it all epitomised the grumpy hermit he perceived Akaashi to be.

 Amidst this small venture Bokuto found himself staring this way and that, locating a wardrobe alike to his own in the far corner, and a similarly grand window currently covered by a set of curtains, casting the room to a suitable darkness. The desk just about showed itself beneath more mess and scattered sheets of paper, most of which had been drawn or written upon. The wall above proudly displayed some of the finer artworks… some architecture studies, a few portraits here and there… not too shabby, if Bokuto’s opinion counted for anything.

 A sideward glimpse however had the poor fool almost drop the tray entirely, his jaw slack having spied the sleeping figure on the bed. _Tray down first_ , Bokuto reminded himself firmly, setting it safe upon the bedside table. As for the next part…This was a dilemma most severe. Unfair, even. 

There were many ways Bokuto could go about this, and none of them filled him with much enthusiasm.

 In a most unusual, tranquil hush Akaashi was curled up on his side, entwined in the bedsheets as if they’d engaged in a fight over the course of his sleep. To some surprise he’d managed to get undressed last night, covering himself with a navy blue robe that albeit long, had parted at the bottom, revealing a slim, pale and exceptionally lovely leg that Bokuto struggled to pry his goggling eyes from.

 Cursing inwardly he whipped his head, and attention, elsewhere. Even if Akaashi wasn’t awake, the fact stood that the man disliked such lecherous behaviour, and so, it was only right to restrain himself. Only after gathering a much needed sense of composure did he look back in Akaashi’s direction, gently plucking a stray bedsheet with both hands which he then draped over the other.

“Hey… wake up.”

 Bokuto’s voice was soft, his typical volume stifled by the flurry of emotions beating at his ribcage. Granted, they’d fallen out a fair bit, and Akaashi wasn’t entirely fond of him all things considered… but still, it didn’t mean to say he couldn’t look cute. Of course Bokuto never doubted that for a moment.

“Mngh…?”

 Reduced to a soppy, adoring mess, Bokuto failed to properly recognise the significance of Akaashi stirring from his slumber, a stupid grin plastered across his face. “You ok there?”

“Mnn.” Drowsily, Akaashi curled up some more to snuggle in the bedsheets, managing a soft nod in reply. Eventually his eyelids lifted, not much mind you, but enough to grasp a vague awareness of the surroundings. It was somewhere around then, Bokuto confessed internally, that his previous bubble of cheerful emotions were scrapped, replaced with a necessary fear. The once peaceful, sleepy expression on the other man’s face had become pointed, his glare fixated upon the blur of a figure which travelled up, up… higher even to reach that oh so familiar hairstyle.

“Oh great, it’s you.”

 Bokuto couldn’t withhold his groan if he tried. “Good morning to you too. Afternoon even.”

“ _Afternoon_ …?!”

 In one fluid motion Bokuto opened the curtains, permitting the intense midday sunlight to pool across the room and subsequently usher Akaashi into the one dark corner of his bed. It was a sight Bokuto felt the need to grin about, if it weren’t for the sudden display of those legs (and a whole lot more) which abruptly condemned him a flustered mess.

“Akaashi… You need to um, sort yourself out.” 

“ _You’re_ the one who needs sorting out! Just what do you think you’re doing?!”

“Please. Just listen to me.” Bokuto pressed, staring out of the window as if his life depended on it. Needless to say Akaashi was miffed beyond belief. It was one thing to waltz in so carefree, but another to turn your back partway through a conversation.

“What on earth do you mean?! Face me already!”

“Look _down_.” Came the exasperated response, Akaashi lifting an eyebrow before doing so.

“… _Oh_.”

 In a hasty motion he tugged the open robe across himself, tying it at the waist firmly with a nervous clearing of his throat. “Thanks… I guess.”

“ _Hmm_?”

Teasing to the point even Kuroo would be proud, Bokuto paused. He simply _had_ to make sure he heard him correctly after all, waiting a good moment or two before flashing his usual grin in Akaashi’s direction. “Oh my, so you _can_ be polite after all!”

“Now you’re just asking me to be rude.” Akaashi spoke up gruffly, retreating into the snug hold of the bedsheets. “Anyway, why are you here? Can’t you see I was sleeping?”

“Like I said, it’s midday.” Bokuto gestured to clock on the wall above the desk, its face almost lost amongst the drawings. “You can’t sit in bed all day being bitter over your alcohol intolerance.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.” Desperate to grasp firm his remaining dignity, Akaashi tugged the sheets up further and successfully obscured his face. “I didn’t touch a single drink last night.”

“No,” Bokuto conceded, “I heard Oikawa poured all of them for you… and that you hit the floor drunk out of your mind.”

 For once in his life, Akaashi didn’t have a smart remark. Instead he submitted, largely due to the throbbing pain in his head, simply peeking from the sheets when Bokuto grabbed the tray from the bedside table. “To be honest I’ve done worse, so I can’t complain. Now here, I got you some breakfast.”

 _Breakfast…?_ Green eyes flickered like a waning flame whilst Akaashi gawped, unsure as to how he should respond. No one had dared to wake him up like this before, let alone bring him breakfast…

_I could thank him… but no. We’ve done that once. Once is more than enough._

Quietly he settled for pulling himself upright, Bokuto propping up the pillow behind him for support before placing the tray in his lap.

“… You can stay.” Akaashi finally muttered under his breath, nodding to a spot on the bed by his feet. The very suggestion made Bokuto cautious, and for all the right reasons, the man awaiting a further grunt in confirmation before taking a seat at last.

 No words were exchanged when Akaashi proceeded to examine the plate of food, but Bokuto predicted as much. Bypassing the toast and bacon momentarily, he eventually reached in to pluck the red apple between two fingers, an amused expression adorning his features when he gave it a thoughtful twirl.

“Bit too early to be poisoning me, don’t you think?”

“Very funny.” Bokuto grunted, letting his head fall back. “I assure you it is safe to eat, dear princess. The dwarves checked it themselves.”

To his surprise Akaashi didn’t reply immediately, eyes somewhat widened in disbelief and provoking a sense of curiosity. “… Huh.”

“What is it?”

“I didn’t think you’d get the reference.” In spite of his current state, Akaashi disregarded his headache to uphold some composure when he spoke. “Reading doesn’t seem like your thing, no offense.”

“None taken.” Honestly, perhaps Akaashi should get drunk more often… hungover that is. He was much, _much_ easier to converse with like this. “Kuroo’s a fan of fictional writing, wants to write his own novels you see. One day he came home with a load of books, and that was the one I read.” With a calm expression Bokuto turned his attention to the ceiling. “There’s something nice about those fairy tales, you know? Simple, to the point even.”

“So you’re the romantic type.” Akaashi interjected, chomping on the apple with an arched brow. “Still… you make a good point. They’re enjoyable stories, albeit fantasy.”

“Come on…” Bokuto eyes rolled like heavy weights in their sockets. “Don’t you find them nice at all? You know… the love parts?”

“I don’t give much thought to love.” Again, Bokuto suspected that to be the case. “If it happens, so be it.”

The very notion seemed ludicrous to a daydreamer like Bokuto, but of course, no two people are the same. “Have you ever thought about finding someone…? Someone here perhaps?”

“No.” Akaashi’s tone was firm… unyielding. “But something tells me that’s half the reason you came here.”

“You got me.” There was no trace of a smug grin, or humour to Bokuto’s voice when he replied, the man purely directing a soft smile Akaashi’s way. Something about his mannerisms proved very comforting, reassuring maybe.

No, Akaashi didn’t have time for such nonsense. Swallowing another bite of the apple he then made to speak. “Don’t misunderstand, I appreciate the gesture… But really, why are you doing this? Are you trying to play the better man or something? Make me look like the villain? Only if you are I’ll warn you now it’s not-”

“ _Akaashi_.” Bokuto stressed the name amidst a weighty sigh. “It’s an _apology_ … well, part of, at least.”

“ _Excuse me_ …?” Voice small, diminished in bewilderment, Akaashi set the remainder of the apple on the tray with an awkward cough.

“I’m sorry, for everything. The staring, the comment I said about your looks… getting us banned from the shows…” Forcing the lump in his throat down with a raspy gulp, Bokuto continued, his breaths shaky. “I’m rather prone to causing trouble... Still it doesn’t excuse my behaviour so far.” Gradually his body language became more prominent, shoulders hunching as his voice lowered to a mumble. “If you hate me I understand, but I hope we can actually, you know… try and work something out… So that you can get back to performing again, I mean." 

Goodness… not only was he a romantic, but a dramatic too.

 Be that as it may, Akaashi reasoned mentally, there was no benefit to mocking the man. “… Thanks. I…” Oh dear, apologies were harder than first anticipated. “I um… same.”

“Same?”

 Bokuto found solace in witnessing the sunlight that had seeped in, flecks of gold proceeding to tumble and roll, much like his head when it conclusively geared towards Akaashi. Few words left those lips, teeth grazing and pulling at them for a while almost enticingly, or so Bokuto would have believed were the mood considerably better. “Yes. That is to say… I’m sorry. I suppose I’ve been a bit harsh myself.”

“Want to try again?” Bokuto probed thoughtfully, lips tugged up into a warm grin when Akaashi conveyed his approval in a slight nod.

“I reckon that’s got to be one of your better ideas.”

“I’m taking that as a compliment.”

“Do as you will.” Akaashi concluded, his headache subsiding long enough to maintain a single thought. The atmosphere had become pleasant to the point of choking, enticing a glum expression to drag its way across his features whilst he took a bite of the toast. “I don’t suppose you know if the others have set off for the port yet…?" 

 _What an unexpected change in conversation_ , Bokuto mused with his head tilted.

“I did hear a lot of voices outside when I was making breakfast, so most likely, yeah.”

 Rolling his shoulders back in a lazy shrug Bokuto left the bed, eyes skimming the drawings above the desk, anything to distract from the nuisance ticking of the clock hung there, each motion pounding through the quiet. “Speaking of which, you seem really close to Oikawa, why is that?” 

 The sharp clatter of cutlery against porcelain ripped the mood asunder, Akaashi collecting the utensils with a fierce gaze. “Am I not permitted to speak to those beyond my group?”

“No, that’s not what I was sayi-” 

“Bokuto, is there something else you needed?”

 Really, Bokuto was beginning to curse his luck. With a hefty slap his palm was brought up, rubbing and pulling at his face alongside a shattered sound in complaint. “No, no there wasn’t…”

 Dealing with Akaashi proved an incredibly delicate process, something akin to a bowl of water Bokuto couldn’t help spill in his clumsy efforts to make amends.

“In that case you can- no…” The voice from the bed came softer now, almost as if Akaashi were restraining himself. There was a slight shift and bob in his throat when he swallowed, green eyes sombre and set upon the tray in his lap. “Look... I _am_ sorry for how things went yesterday, and I do believe we should try to avoid future arguments, but… it’s not like I can change just because of an apology. It doesn’t mean _we_ will change, and-”

“I’m not saying you have to, not at all. Hell, I’d be pretty upset if someone forced _me_ to change.” Bokuto pressed with utmost sincerity. “Anyway, as for how things between us go, it’s early days… For now, let’s focus on getting on Mama’s good side huh? I’m sure he’ll be mad if we take too long to visit him.”

“Right… I’ll see you in the hallway.”

 After a brisk bow Bokuto took his leave, Akaashi patiently waiting for the door to click shut until pressing both palms to his face. Socialising showed itself to be a most troublesome affair indeed, and neither the throbbing in his head, nor his harsh tongue, made the matter much easier…

 

“Aah… the weather’s really good today.”

 Squinting through the light to better admire the scenery, Kuroo let his usual grin surface. The port was busy, naturally, so Daichi had found it best to gather the children at a spot close to the sea where they should, with any luck, fail to be too much of a distraction. Good as the intentions were, it wasn’t a watertight plan, so to speak. The dense spray from the lapping waves carried itself through the breeze, only serving to encourage a great deal of zest and enthusiasm when some of the younger members of the group made to play games, chase one another, build a human tower of sorts…

Truly, Daichi had his work cut out for him.

“Nice view, isn’t it?”

 Yaku saw fit to interrupt Kuroo’s thoughts, hands shoved into his trouser pockets whilst he rocked back and forth on his heels, captivated by the tumbling scope of water ahead. “It’s rather pretty at night too.”

“Is it safe to be visiting such a place in the dark?” Kuroo couldn’t help but question the matter, having grown pessimistic from his current experience in the west, and by all means the subsequent wait for Yaku’s response didn’t do much to improve his lack of faith.

“It’s safer than it was.” Yaku answered, a hesitant cough putting a step in his words. Drawing one hand from his pocket he gave Kuroo’s back a hearty, brusque slap, quite thoroughly winding the oblivious soul. “Now perk up, this is supposed to be a happy moment.”

“For who?!”

 

“Hmm… Cute.” Oikawa’s voice was low, uttered between breaths when the corner of his lips tweaked up in a half smile, seeing no harm in being a voyeur to such frivolities. “Yaku really doesn’t hold back on the new kittens…” To the closing point of his statement the atmosphere dimmed, lips pursing in thought and eyes drawing to considered slits. 

“Oikawa…?” 

“Yamamoto.” Oikawa replied with a polite dip of his head. The gesture was met with a disgruntled snarl of sorts, the approaching figure waving a hand back and forth. “Tora will do just fine. You know how it is.”

“Then call me Tooru so we can be done with the formalities.” Oikawa’s tone was stern, yet kind, Tora bursting into a cheerful, wide smile.

“Sounds good to me.”

 Amongst the bustle and rabble the two then stood and gazed across the water, as if permitted their own space in time to reflect. The considered whisper of sea foam as it hit the walls of the docks became a tune in their silence, mingling with the stones and wood of the nearby pier before withdrawing in the tide.

“You’ve been really brave, you know that?” Tora spoke firm, giving Oikawa’s upper arm a light pat. “The waiting, coming he-”

“Akaashi already drilled that speech into me last night.”

 Grimacing, Oikawa required no further reminders of the evening in question. It went without saying he had learnt his lesson regarding how much alcohol to feed the stoic character, considering no less than five drinks had transformed him into a lecturing genius that even Sugawara would have issues countering.

 Much to his dismay Tora continued to laugh, entertained by the prospect. “He’s got a good point though. Seriously, we’re proud of you.”

“Thanks…” After much deliberation, Oikawa mustered the will to be grateful, even if the childish voice within demanded otherwise. “Although it’s not just me we should take into consideration. What about you? You’re just as-”

“ _They’re here!_ ”

 Swift and with enough force to seemingly snap his neck altogether, Oikawa’s head flew in the direction of the incoming boat, breaths ragged and laden with trepidation. Upon predicting such nerves Tora gave his hand a brief squeeze. “Breathe.”

“I-I will. Am.” No amount of preparation could possibly hope to ready a person for such an occasion, but thankfully Oikawa’s feet took hold of the situation, propelling him in a hapless sprint to the boat as it was secured to the docks. By sheer luck he avoided crashing into some of the Crows assisting Daichi in the process, weaving and charging up the planks that were lowered. “Hajime!!”

_“Don’t run up here!!”_

 The sudden wave of unease latched onto many of the spectators when a crash sounded, Kuroo included, his face blank and eyebrows raised. “My, someone’s eager.”

“You’re baack!” Oikawa cooed delightedly, arms wrapped tight about his victim’s neck and cheeks flushed in glee. “You’re looking exceptionally tanned too, more so than when you left I reckon. Must’ve been some good weather out the-”

 Honestly there weren’t many ways to cope with Oikawa besides act fast, the other doing just that when he pressed their lips together casually, leaving Oikawa silent. “I missed you too, now calm down hm?”

“Iwaizumi.” Daichi called out, making his way onto the boat now. The man in question gave a modest smile, his arms draped about Oikawa’s middle in an embrace.

“Daichi, it’s good to see you. Been busy I imagine?”

“Like always. People forever keeping me on my toes… that one included.” A fingertip jabbed at the air in Oikawa’s direction, prompting a pout from the accused.

“I have been absolutely fine! I… Just felt a little lonely, that’s all.”

“Tooru… Have you been causing trouble?” This Iwaizumi fellow stared, positively unimpressed with who Kuroo now assumed to be his partner (yet another couple in the family added to his mental list.) The only response came in hasty kisses to his cheek before Oikawa hid in the crook of his neck, likely never to be seen again as far as the tightness of his grip was concerned. “Tooru…”

“Hmph.”

 Whilst he half considered it harsh to destroy a sweet reunion, there was work to be done, Daichi bringing his hands together ready to speak. “Okay boys, we can resume this later. Time to get the-”

“ _Group hug!”_

_“Get off!!”_

 Before Kuroo had the chance to peek at the scene on deck (granted he was probably a little too nosy for his own good, but who could blame him?), Oikawa was buried under a multitude of figures, some taller, but all very lively.

“Matsukawa, Hanamaki, I demand you let go! You’re ruining my moment with Hajime!”

“Yeah, yeah. You can reconvene with your dearest later on. We just wanna’ give our grumpy lord a welcome home hug.”

 Declaring his efforts useless Daichi proceeded with the task at hand, motioning for Aone, Futakuchi and the others to come aboard to begin collecting the goods. By some stroke of luck the number of useful people outnumbered that of the playful idiots, and so the mission went underway with a certain degree of ease. Of course there were the occasional mishaps, Lev and Yaku being one of them when the taller assumed his partner could not and should not be carrying so much due his smaller stature.

 Regardless of the noise… the madness even, Kuroo couldn’t deny it was what made the family special in its own right, and though it pained him to confess as much, there was little room to wonder how he and Bokuto fit in so fast. Well _almost,_ as far as his companion was concerned…

 Just the thought of him left alone after what happened yesterday, and that attitude of his… It had Kuroo fretting like a frantic mother. Still, such negativity wouldn’t do, especially when your own friend was concerned. He would simply have to wait and see how things played out.

 

“Are you ready to set off?”

 Bokuto’s voice was composed, body language likewise when he greeted Akaashi in the hallway. It was an action he had rehearsed many a time during that agonising wait, not from fear, or nerves even, but because he genuinely sought to get _something_ right… _anything_. Admittedly such mannerisms didn’t come naturally to the poor fellow; he was very much an extreme sort, putting his all into everything he did… And yet, he had come to realise in such a short space of time, those ways didn’t settle well with his partner. Work partner, he recapped.

“Yes.”

 When Akaashi responded in genuine thanks, and even flashed a trace of a smile, Bokuto wanted to pat himself on the back. Although a minor detail, it was a small victory amidst many mistakes in the past however many hours; one Bokuto would take pride in for the rest of the day, no doubt.

 _Bang._ Two… three… four…

 Akaashi’s brow lifted in silent interrogation, somewhat- if not entirely expecting the noises to have come from Bokuto and a stray pipe in the hallway. Regrettably the mad shaking of dual coloured hair and absence of said pipe convinced him otherwise, Akaashi slowly extending to his tip toes and peering over Bokuto’s shoulders, complexion paling swiftly upon spying an open door.

“One moment.” Akaashi’s command came in the form of a light, almost weightless breath, a hand taking care to gently usher Bokuto aside without seeming forceful, or rude. Such conduct proved fleeting when he stood in the doorway however, exasperation dominating his stance to the point of being humorous as he quickly seized the handle and slammed the door shut. Through the wood came loud outbursts of laughter that only served to redden Akaashi’s cheeks brilliantly, his voice wavering whilst he made to lecture the childish pair on the other side.

_“How many times have we told you two to lock the door in such moments…?”_

“ _Sooorry! Didn’t think you were awake!_ ”

 Akaashi rolled his eyes with a shake of his head in Bokuto’s direction, seeing no reason to entertain the nitwits further. “Honestly, some people hm…?”

“Come on...” Bokuto jeered with folded arms. “Don’t tell me you have no clue they shared a bed? I mean it makes sense if they’re-” 

Oh goodness, Bokuto was oblivious.

“I _know_ they share a bed. The fact of the matter is they- no, do I even have to say it?!” Needless to say embarrassed Akaashi was exceptionally cute, cuter than usual even, a fact Bokuto dare not speak aloud for understandable reasons. “Bokuto, put two and two together, literally.”

“… That makes four. What abo- _OH_.”

 By that point Akaashi was nodding encouragingly and doing his best to hide a fidgety laugh, fingers gesturing to no place in particular. “I presume we’re speaking the same language now, yes?”

“Absolutely.” Like the jittery fool he was Bokuto gave an awkward salute, his jaw slack in wonderment. “I am… in awe.”

“Brilliant, but we must be on our way.” Akaashi managed to guide the bewildered sod a little closer to the staircase by tugging at his sleeve, more laughter tickling and threatening to ripple out from his throat in the meantime. Luck showed itself to be on Akaashi’s side when they eventually reached their destination, at which pointed Bokuto poised himself with a deep, pronounced cough to clear his throat.

“Really though, you can only applaud him.”

“Who…?” Akaashi wondered why on earth he was humouring such conversation, the two starting to descend the flight of stairs (Bokuto trailing behind, naturally).

“Saru.” Bokuto replied sincerely. “From what I saw earlier he was out of it, seriously gone. Gotta’ praise a man who can dismiss a hangover to take charge and, you know…” A cheeky grin spread its way across his features. “Komi’s very lucky.”

“Sarukui wasn’t the one in charge.”

“What?” Bokuto’s eyes were rapidly flickering, on and off… open and closed… like the shifty gas lights adorning the walls of the secret entrance he and Kuroo had used to first enter the Roost. “Wait do you mean-”

“Forget I said anything!” A vibrant red slapped itself onto Akaashi’s cheeks once more, the man picking up the pace when his companion took to gasping and hooting in amazement.

“Akaashi oh my- _Akaaasshhiiiiii_!!” Bokuto was gobsmacked, to say the least. “I had no idea, I guess I thought because, you know, height and all…”

“Height never dictates the position in such- oh really _why_ are we discussing this?!” Hurriedly they went about their way, Akaashi turning all manner of shades whilst Bokuto stuck firm to his side, beaming and positively enlightened by this turn of events. Most importantly however, and to Bokuto’s utter delight, Akaashi wasn’t mad, nowhere close at that.

“Sorry, sorry. I really was surprised though.”

“You’re terrible…” Came the fatigued response, green eyes drifting up in his direction. “Yet I cannot deny your ways of dragging me into the depths of unnecessary topics are remarkable... I usually prefer my conversations brief.”

“I can believe that.” Bokuto mused with a pleasant smile, “Though… was that another compliment I heard?”

“Sorry?”

“You called me remarkable.”

 The slap of Akaashi’s hand to his forehead resounded throughout the stairway, groan audible between gritted teeth. “I didn’t- well, I _did_ say that and… look you’re doing it again! Stop distracting me!”

Bokuto hushed obediently, blinking slowly in thought as he churned the words through his mind. “So… that means you still complimented me, right?"

“ _Bokuto.”_

“I’m gonna’ say that you did.” The man concluded boastfully without a second to spare, all his doubts thrown aside instantaneously. His overwhelming confidence and attitude was quite frankly tiring, in Akaashi’s opinion, and yet mildly amusing (the latter of which he silently confessed).

“… Believe whatever makes you happiest.” Akaashi finally uttered, eyes reeling back with an exhausted smile that didn’t go amiss to his excitable spectator, who was practically bouncing down each step in turn as they soon approached the ground floor.

“You know Akaashi…” Bokuto began, tugging the main door open so that they could step out into the courtyard, both men welcoming the cool breeze that hit them upon doing so. “You’re a pretty nice person… if you don’t mind me saying.”

 There were many ways to interpret such a phrase, and Akaashi wasn’t sure how he felt about any of them. His initial, most suitable reaction was to cast a distinctly unimpressed gaze in Bokuto’s direction, anything to hide a blush prickling his cheeks for the umpteenth time that afternoon.

“Was _that_ supposed to be a compliment…?”

 Bokuto’s broad shoulders only shrugged to that inquiry, coupled with a widened grin as the two wandered along towards the Hall. Maybe the sun and warm atmosphere had affected his brain, Akaashi considered, not surprised in the slightest should that be the case. It certainly was a nice day, after all...

“Akaashi, believe whatever makes you happiest.”


	8. Cotton

 In all his years of running the Roost, Sugawara’s office had born witness to many an event. Most of them were happy, he conceded with a level of pride, others more stressful (those of which largely involved arguing or money). Daichi and he combined spent many a day, and night, holed up in that very room buried beneath plans, letters and various other paperwork… Of course it wasn’t to say that was _all_ they used the office for, oh no, but that was a story for another time.

 The point of the matter, Sugawara internally pressed on, is that he took pride in his attention to detail. A simple knock upon the wood of the door became a fingerprint, a personal handwriting of sorts, one he relied upon to predict who could be standing on the other side. On most occasions his guesswork was correct, a habit he prided himself on greatly.

That afternoon however, it broke the trend entirely.

 Much unlike anything he had heard prior, the door very nearly screamed from the enthusiastic pounding of a clenched fist the other side, irregular beats implicating his visitor was perhaps attempting to smash a tune of sorts against the straining surface. Soon enough his heart was drumming in the same maddening fashion, as if wishing to partake in this bizarre musical endeavour, whilst he called out in a half shaky tone from his spot at the desk. “C-Come in!”

 On cue the door yielded, and two figures shuffled inside, still engaged in conversation under ghostlike breaths.

“Well now, this _is_ a surprise…”

 Uttered words lolled into mused hums when he composed himself, Sugawara’s eyebrows torn between knotting tight, shooting halfway up his forehead or remaining static so as to disguise his absolute shock. By all means, he expected Bokuto and Akaashi to show face sometime soon, what he didn’t quite envision was their being so civil. Their words, albeit inaudible, held no trace of anger or conflict… indeed, the two seemed to be having a decent exchange.

“Afternoon.” Bokuto called out first, Akaashi giving a modest grunt in the meantime.

“Afternoon, have a seat.” Sugawara motioned to the stack of chairs over by the window with a kind smile, Bokuto quickly grabbing two of them to place opposite the desk, both men seating themselves shortly after. “I trust you enjoyed the party last night?”

 Soundlessly golden eyes drew towards green, each individual finding the sudden urge to clear their throat. “Yeah, it was…”

 What exactly _had_ it been again…?

 Bokuto couldn’t describe it for the life of him, yet in that single glance he was convinced Akaashi felt the same (or otherwise held no desire to recall such events).

“We did.” Akaashi detailed with velvety ease, Bokuto casting another glimpse in his direction. He envied such self-control, to say the least.

“Good.” Sugawara’s fingertips grazed over varnished wood. “Might I inquire as to how the other owls are doing? Assuming they’re awake of course.”

 In a childish, instantaneous ripple of giggles Bokuto grinned, chest bobbing in time to his laughter. “Well, about that-”

“Konoha’s still sleeping as far as we know.” Akaashi swiftly intervened, brows lifted and stare engaged upon his humoured companion. “… And Sarukui and Komi are currently occupied, so to speak.”

“I see.” Sugawara required no further information, patting the flat of his palm to the desk surface, conjuring hollow, almost pleasant notes. Taking full advantage of the probing peace he surveyed the pair ahead, Akaashi offering a passing gesture of his head and half smile when Bokuto proved unable to control his cheerful fits, his body wracked with quivering motions. No tension lingered on his features, the typical creased brow absent in that moment. Akaashi’s lips, prone to a smart remark or two, sat placid, only teased upwards as his poor cohort desperately sought to poise himself.

“Sorry Mama, I-I really am.”

“It’s quite alright.” With a light hum Sugawara took a sip of coffee before proceeding, shifting about to get comfortable in his seat. “Now then, I suppose you’re wondering what I have in store for you both…?”

 Akaashi couldn’t care either way quite frankly, but something about Sugawara’s sudden twisted smile had him curious. In contrast Bokuto trembled and squirmed about, his face contorting in dread. “N-No…?”

“Make a visit to the main kitchen first,” Sugawara began, quite rightly opting to ignore that response, “what with the boys coming home I think it’s only fair they get a good dinner, don’t you?”

“… _Oh!_ ” Bokuto’s previous fears were brushed aside all too carelessly. “I’m not brilliant at cooking but Kuroo says I do a great-”

“No, no, you’re just making preparations.”

Akaashi’s displeasure only worsened following Sugawara’s dismissive statement, lips tightening into a straight line. “You mean we’re peeling vegetables?”

“No.” Sugawara asserted again. “You’re going to wash them too.”

“Brilliant. Highlight of my day.”

Today was over, as far as Akaashi was concerned. With a thump he let his head drop back, eyes scanning the ceiling for the next best thing of his day, or tomorrow, assuming such a concept existed. Much as it should have scared him, Bokuto on the other hand found himself pleased to witness the return of the usual sarcasm, grinning and folding his arms across his chest.

“Don’t worry, you have me for company.”

“Ah…” A sweeping, heavy roll had Akaashi’s head turn in his direction, expression blank. “Thank you, that’s made me feel a whole lot better.”

“Did it?”

“No.”

“I distinctly recall you’re both being punished, so don’t expect any fun tasks.” Sugawara saw fit to interrupt before things got out of hand. “Anyway, I’ve been kind enough to supply a variety of vegetables so it won’t be too repetitive.”

 Though he predicted as much, the two owls were rather preoccupied in exchanging sour airs to bother paying attention, Bokuto slapping a hand to the other’s arm. “Don’t start being grumpy with me! We can make it fun, I’m sure!”

“Perhaps, although the very thought of you and a knife sounds deadly, stupid even.” Akaashi laughed through his nose, permitting a smirk to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Funny, I was going to say the same to you.”

“ _Enough.”_ A mighty wallop indicated the moment wherein Sugawara face planted the desk, his forehead sporting a lovely red mark when he sat up once more. “It’s just for one day; I’ll give you something better tomorrow.”

“No you won’t.” Came the closing retort, Akaashi rising from his seat. “In any case we should leave. I have a thrilling date with a potato this afternoon.”

“But he said there’s gonna’ be other vegetables too.” Bokuto not so helpfully informed, earning a well-deserved raise of those eyebrows.

“I know. I was referring to you.”

 Somewhere in the empty halls of Bokuto’s mind the penny dropped, clattering down flights of stupid questions where it nestled, quite neatly at that, amidst a wave of sullen remarks. “I’m a good cut of beef thank you very much, you cranky carrot.”

“ _Carrot?!”_

Goodness, Sugawara prayed for his sanity, the desk practically _begged_ to be head-butted again. “Akaashi… go on ahead, please? I need to speak with Bokuto a moment.”

Luckily Akaashi complied without too much resistance, though not before shooting Bokuto a miffed stare. “Very well, don’t be too long, turnip.”

“Farewell my dearest, most miserable tomato.”

“Nice try, but that’s a fruit.” Akaashi did his utmost to stifle his laughter, slipping through the doorway victorious.

“Liar!”

“He’s telling the truth.” Sugawara exhaled, shattered before the day had truly begun. A sideward glance alerted him to the existence of a bottle of alcohol nearby, but of course it was probably too early for that.

Then again, desperate times called for desperate measures…

“Alrighty!” Bokuto piped up fully enlightened, and strangely energised, by this new bit of information. Really, nothing seemed capable of bringing him down. “What did you want to talk about?”

 Shaking those tempting booze related thoughts aside, Sugawara made to sit up in his chair, hands placed against the desk in a fashion befitting his authority (he could always indulge those ponderings later on, if need be). “Ah, yes of course. It’s nothing terrible; I just wanted to check up on you.”

“Check up on me…?” Unpredictable as the weather, an abrupt, shrinking sensation overwhelmed Bokuto something fierce, teeth grazing his lower lip. “If it’s about my behaviour yesterday you can-”

“It’s not that. Not entirely at any rate.” Sugawara maintained a soft tone, hoping to gently coax the poor soul from his nerves. “I confess if anyone’s at fault it’s me.”

“Sorry…?”

 Not one to tempt fate, Sugawara left his chair to close the door, inspecting for potential eavesdroppers in the process. “I knew there might be complications… Regarding where I put you, that is. Akaashi’s not a sociable sort, and to top it all off you hit one of his bigger nerves quite fast. As for the others- no… perhaps I shouldn’t say…”

“Say what?” Bokuto turned in his seat, curiosity proving a reliable distraction from the doubt twisting his innards to a fleshy pulp. “If you mean their backgrounds, they already told me.”

“Really now?” Fed up with the aching and whining of the floorboards underfoot Sugawara occupied Akaashi’s seat, eyes conveying a sense of intrigue. Several times he made to speak but reluctance had him tripping over his own tongue, apprehensive of exposing details the Owls would rather keep secret. “Then you know about Komi, Washio and Sarukui…?”

“Mm,” Bokuto started with a thoughtful hum, his positive glow waning in that moment, “Even though it’s sad to hear what they went through, I think it’s comforting knowing I’m not the only one from that sort of place.”

“I see...” Observing the other with a certain level of fondness, Sugawara found himself beaming. “I’m surprised, truly. In spite of the slight mishap yesterday, you have a wonderful knack for engaging with people.”

“Really?” Bokuto feigned interest in defiance, utterly unconvinced. “All I’m good at is making mistakes, misunderstanding things… The others only told me what they did because they had to.”

“I think you’re wrong.”

“I appreciate you trying to help but-”

“Want to know why, at least?” Persistent by nature Sugawara refused to back down, edging his chair closer to the other. Eventually Bokuto succumbed, head bowing low whilst he slumped in his seat. No reply came bar the golden gaze set upon Sugawara, soundlessly urging him to continue.

“I think you understand by now, but all of the Owls are rather different, so to speak. Some are more outgoing than others, granted, but overall they’re stubborn and fairly private. It’s rather difficult getting them to collaborate with others for that reason alone.”

“Are they not liked?” Bokuto inquired to some horror, rousing a chuckle and reassuring pat to his shoulder.

“People like them, of course they do. What I mean is that you’ll struggle to find someone beyond the group who knows much about them. Therefore the fact that they’ve told you so much is great, amazing even. They clearly trust you.”

“… Does that make me a proper Owl now?”

“Of course, assuming you’re happy to stay in the group.” Sugawara probed to a wave of eager nodding, a laugh blossoming from deep in his throat.

“I really want to!” Bokuto’s declaration swept in with his usual vigour, fists clenched tight. “Although I still have the issue of Akaashi… I don’t think he likes me much.”

 “Wrong again, my little owlet.” Sugawara hopped onto his feet with a light sing-song hum. Bokuto confessed the matter confused him greatly, but the nickname was cute enough, so he would let it slide. “Like I said, your ways with people are impressive. You’ve had him talking far more than most people can manage, joking too, so just give it time, hm?” A gentle nudge to the shoulder ushered Bokuto from his seat, gearing towards the door. “Now run along, I’m expecting Daichi and the others to return soon, and you have some work to do.”

“Okay, okay.” Bokuto knew a hint when he saw one, latching onto the handle when he approached the door. “Thanks for the talk.”

“You’re welcome, feel free to visit again if need be.”

 “Will do!” Each step upheld a distinct bounce when Bokuto left the office and made for the kitchen, waving back at Sugawara with wide swings of his arm (one of which almost took out a poor passer-by in the process). The zest dwindled soon enough however once he reached the centre of the Hall, eyes concentrating upon each exit in turn.

“Which way was the kitchen again…?”

 

“Stop squirming please, you’re making this difficult.”

“You’re taking too long!”

 Tongue clicking and tutting in disapproval, Konoha endeavoured to focus, aligning the tape along Komi’s outstretched, unsteady arm. “You’ve been avoiding this like the plague; I told you _plenty_ of times I need your measurements so the girls and I can get on with the costumes for the show.”

“You’ve taken them before.” Komi protested with puffed cheeks, glaring across the room to no point in particular. “Why bother again?”

“Bodies change. For all I know you’ve put on weight, or grown… maybe.” Konoha let the final word disappear into his grin, Sarukui haphazardly rolling his discarded shirt into a ball before lobbing it at the other’s head.

“Be nice, he’s a good size!”

“What a prick.” Komi huffed momentarily (ensuring to shoot Sarukui a cheeky wink in approval, however) whilst Konoha turned to scribble on a nearby sheet of paper. A spark of mischief hit when he exchanged glances with his partner, akin to a splash of oil on a flame. “I wonder how many times he’s taken Washio’s measurements…”

“Pfft-” The remainder of Sarukui’s amusement buried itself deep into a pillow as he rolled onto his front, tugging the covers up over his head in the process.

 “And just what exactly is _that_ supposed to mean?”

 Konoha paused from his note taking, head revolving gradually to depict a most deadpan expression. To emphasise his point Komi fluttered his eyelids a few times, mocking a flirtatious giggle of sorts. It disturbed Konoha immensely, to put it bluntly, the man deeming it wise to resume taking his measurements whilst he was distracted. “I’ll have it known he’s very co-operative, unlike you idiots.”

“I bet he is.” Sarukui snorted, surfacing from the bedsheets. “So when exactly did you take his _‘measurements’_ , hm? Was it the other night, when you assumed no one was awake to hear you slipping into his room, or in the bathroom the next morning?”

“It was that afternoon, actually.” The reddening of Konoha’s cheeks didn’t go amiss to anyone when he knelt down, holding the tape against Komi’s outer leg and hastily scrawling on the paper once more. “Now be quiet, you can hardly talk when you practically screamed me awake today.”

“Hey, I believe in offering credit where it’s due.” Sarukui’s stern impression proved convincing, almost. “Komi did a solid job and I will not have that go unheard.”

“So I gathered.” Konoha droned, rising to his feet and draping the tape about Komi’s waist. Upon spying another cocky smirk from the smaller man he made sure to tug it tight, relishing in the sharp, alarmed intake of air that followed.

“Are you trying to choke me with that thing, or what?!”

 Adrift the pleasantries and warmth Sarukui surveyed the room in an eerie quiet. The atmosphere was welcome, true enough, yet he could not deny the greater matters demanding their attention.

“Say… What are you going to do about Bokuto and Akaashi?”

“What am _I_ going to do…?” Konoha processed the enquiry coolly, Komi too adopting a pensive hush in light of the situation. “I assume you’re referring to their ban. In which case I haven’t given it much thought, nor do I intend to. They’re a part of our group, and I’ll proceed on the basis that they’ll be performing, if not in this show, but the next at least.”

“Good.” Sarukui’s head dipped, pleased with the response. “I don’t fancy scrapping my plans because of some stupid ban either; we’ve got a lot more potential now that Bokuto can assist in our acts.”

 Konoha failed to disguise his amusement, no- swell of pride he held towards the other man following that enlightenment. “Getting inspired, are we?”

“I’ve had a few ideas, not that I can go about discussing them just yet of course.” Sounding a groan Sarukui shifted to lie on his back, frowning up at the ceiling. “Yaku and I have a meeting later on so that we can present our new proposals for the show.”

“New proposals?” It was now Komi’s turn to interrupt, perching on the bed no sooner had Konoha concluded his work. “Wait, is that why Sugawara called you away for a bit last night?”

“Yeah…. he insists we rewrite our plans all the while Bokuto and Akaashi are prohibited from the performances... It’s a massive pain, especially when Ennoshita’s there too. You have no idea how fussy he can be.” A grunt complimented the finishing statement, Sarukui slapping a palm to his face. “If we could only convince the pair to _pretend_ to get along at least, maybe Sugawara will let them take part…”

“There’s no guarantee that would work.” Konoha murmured, scanning the paper with Komi’s measurements. “And need I remind you Akaashi can’t be forced into anything.”

“The shows are important to him though.” Komi endeavoured to alleviate the mood somewhat. “That might be the motivation he needs to try and meet Bokuto halfway.”

“I think a quarter of the way would be an improvement, all things considered.” Despite his partner’s hopeful attempts, Sarukui’s attitude remained inflexible. “You saw how it was with them yesterday, how can they possibly-”

“Bokuto took him breakfast this morning, doesn’t that speak for something?” Humming softly Komi shuffled to lie beside the other, making two fingers walk across his bare chest which bobbed from the occasional laughter. Sarukui wasn’t fond of backing down at the best of times, and yet Komi had a wonderful way of making him succumb, even with the silliest of actions. “I suggest we leave them to it. They barely know one another, so in a sense this ban is the optimum time for them to do a little investigating.”

“And if they keep fighting after that?” Konoha interjected in a judging tone, upturned eyebrows emphasising his lack of faith in the matter.

“Then we lock them in a room, and refuse to free them until they learn to be nice.”

“I second that plan.” Sarukui confirmed with the return of a lazy grin, tugging Komi close via an arm looped about his waist. “Now then, let’s hear some more about you and Washio.”

“Oh will you drop it already?” Konoha looked set to steam if the burning in his cheeks had anything to say about it, his hands drawing the tape measure taut. “Get yourself out of bed and cleaned up, I need to take your measurements.”

“Aren’t I fine like this?” An equally naked leg produced itself from beneath the covers with a teasing waggle, Sarukui’s smile never faltering.

“No. I know what you’ve been doing.”

“And I know what _I’ve_ been doing.” Komi sniggered to an echo of laughter from his partner, a hand batting his shoulder in protest.

“Shh, you naughty boy. We don’t need Mother Konoha scolding us further.”

 More often than not Konoha wisely chose against entertaining their provocations, and rest assured this incident would be no different. His mind was elsewhere, acknowledging the distinct footsteps and voices from the hallway indicating Onaga and Washio’s return, of which enticed a small smile to grace his features. “I’ll come back later.”

“ _Say hello to father for us_!”

 “Shut _up_.” Konoha could only laugh under his breath, leaving the excitable duo to their games, and making certain to close the door on his way out.

It never hurt to be precautious, after all.

 

“Say, Akaaashi? I was wondering-”

“No. You’ve done it _again_.”

“Done what?!”

“You‘ve said my name differently _every single time_.” Akaashi stressed, directing additional tension into the knife at hand whilst they sat, huddled in a corner of the main kitchen, peeling the abundance of vegetables Sugawara had kindly set upon them. “Don’t put emphasis on the vowels; pronounce the k clearly and please, if you _must_ get it wrong, be consistent.”

“Sure thing Aghashi.” Bokuto quipped with an entertained expression when Akaashi’s head whipped round, green eyes trained upon him in their usual, intense glare.

“Are you _trying_ to make fun of me?”

“Only that time, yes.” A palm slapped Akaashi’s back amidst a hearty, booming laughter, each motion rattling through his bones, shaking his ribcage and prompting a splutter between words.

“S-Stop that!”

 Contrary to popular belief Bokuto wasn’t hell bent on tormenting Akaashi, regardless of how his actions came across. No sooner had the hand moved did it retreat, resuming the laborious task of skinning a particularly ugly looking carrot of sorts. “Perhaps you could give me your first name? Maybe then I’d have a chance of not messing things up.”

 A precise toss sent an unfortunate potato hurling into the nearby metal container, Akaashi withholding his opinions for now. The matter of earlier, Bokuto’s conversation with Sugawara that is, concerned him immensely, and coupled with the man’s increased eagerness to know every little fact about him only served to arouse further speculation.

“Akaashi…?” Finally, he had pronounced it correctly.

“It’s Keiji.” Albeit painful to do so, Akaashi surrendered. There was little to do but indulge Bokuto in his curiosity, taking into account the likelihood of him interrogating for the same information over and over should he remain stubborn.

“Oh…”

 At that passing, uttered reply Akaashi lifted his gaze, very nearly blinded by the open mouthed look of awe, and those ridiculously bright golden eyes flittering in astonishment. Once, twice (and a couple more times for good measure) Bokuto took to testing the name on his tongue, brows furrowed and appearance bizarrely concentrated, for him at least.

“What are you doing…?”

 To push matters on swiftly, Akaashi wasn’t entirely sure how much more of these antics he could endure. Not to say it was Bokuto’s fault, oh no, rather the drink from last night had returned with vengeance, bashing the inside of his skull to an unsteady rhythm, one which didn’t take much of a liking to incessant ramblings.

 “It’s a nice name.” Bokuto beamed, delighted by the conclusions of his ‘experiment’. “Mine’s Koutarou.”

“Great, I preferred Potato.” Akaashi deadpanned, turning his attention back to the task at hand. Though inclined to retort (and with good reason, at that) Bokuto resisted, leaning forward enough to catch a glimpse of a smile on Akaashi’s features. Apparently someone saw themselves as a bit of a comedian, and why, Bokuto would be stupid not to push the game further.  

 It began with a nudge. Not to shunt the other off the crate they were currently seated upon, but to serve as a teasing warning of sorts, and as predicted no reaction came. Naturally, it inspired Bokuto to try again but with a little more force, relishing in the disgruntled puff of air and subsequent jab of an elbow he received. On the third go Akaashi finally gave him a shred of acknowledgement, before hurling another vegetable to the metal container. “That’s dangerous, shoving people when they’re holding knives.”

“And you need to stop throwing our food about.” Snickering under his breath Bokuto honed in on the potato in his palm until a potentially brilliant idea hit him. In an uncanny act of delicacy his knife slid across the skin, scraping at sections here and there to leave marks upon the surface.

 The process was one of concentrated, serene quiet. Akaashi inquired, with some level of interest (and dare he confess, endearment), the way in which those wide eyes poised, and how the tip of his tongue poked out from the corner of his mouth. The potato art, for lack of better words, was amateur at best, and yet Akaashi couldn’t bring himself to halt the man from his efforts.

“What’re you making?”

 In light of the circumstances all traces of ridicule were stripped, Akaashi shuffling in a little closer. Bokuto’s frame was hunched tight, though upon detecting movement he shifted, permitting some room for the other to get a better look.  

“You’ll see.”

 Genuinely, Akaashi hadn’t considered Bokuto the artistic type. That said, he barely knew the man, so who was he to assume? Clearly he took some enjoyment in what he was doing, and quite frankly nothing else mattered.

 Amongst the peace he slowly resumed their _actual_ work, carefully placing the skinned foods into the container this time so as to not disturb his companion. Bokuto’s knife was brandished with determination when he set upon creating more detailed swipes at the potato skin, small curls of the layer dropping into the waste container below.

“Say…”

“Hm?”

“I was wondering, what with the party last night and all…” Bokuto’s comment slipped through the short silence, filling Akaashi with a notion of dread.

“What about it?”

 Following a grunt Bokuto adjusted his posture, rolling a shoulder before proceeding. “What about birthdays? Do we all get some fancy set up, or…?”

“If you want a party, you can have one.” That line of questioning could have been worse, Akaashi reasoned inwardly, finding no need to refuse answering. “Is your birthday coming up soon then?”

“Nah, 20th September, we’ve missed it. Kuroo’s was just the other day, on the 17th.” Bokuto found himself unable to hold back a ripple of pride as he spoke; memorising dates wasn’t his forte, but just this once, he had managed. “What about yours?”

 Without a second thought hesitation overwhelmed, Akaashi having set his knife aside to fidget and pull at the fingers of his left hand. “Next month, December 5th… That said I’m not one for the p-”

“Parties, right. I figured. Still, don’t you think others might want to celebrate it with you?”

 Hands fumbled with more aggression this time, Akaashi wrenching the little finger tight to the extent Bokuto feared it might very well dislocate, forcing him to muster a great deal of courage. He was treading on eggshells, so to speak, and it would not do to ruin their bonding time thus far.

“Hey-”

 Akaashi’s lips pursed shut, and only when a hand covered his own did his anxiety wane. Calloused fingertips grazed over the skin until fingers curled, Bokuto giving his hands a hasty, reassuring squeeze. The action was clumsy, true, but Akaashi found the gesture welcome, both his eye level and mood lifting.

“Ugh… Look.” Bokuto swept his hand away, the touch too familiar, too intimate. The prickling heat from the passing contact tingled its way up over his arms, slipping through the tissue to reside in his cheeks where it sat quite snug. “What I mean is that everyone’s important, right? So even if you don’t want to do something big, I think you should be appreciated. Maybe our group could have a smaller get together or something. Like, um… yeah! What about-”

 Before long Bokuto had seized the knife and potato, babbling various possibilities whilst he cut and shaved with the blade here and there. It gave Akaashi sufficient time to ponder and nod in agreement, his stare travelling from those flushed cheeks, to the pink tones washing over the back of his neck and pausing, mysteriously enough, at an angry red mark which surfaced from beneath the neckline of his shirt. A wound, perhaps…?  

“… I’d like that.” Akaashi finally piped up, ushering Bokuto to cease when his ramblings turned incoherent. No sooner had the words slipped from his tongue did wonderment strike, his reply enticing a dramatic gasp and whoop from the other, who carried on his creative knife work to a merry hum. No objections there, clearly.

 Be that as it may, the mark on his back inspired a pang of concern. At a second glance it appeared relatively new. Moreover coupled with the purple tell-tale sign of bruising, Akaashi could only envision the worst. Whether he had the grounds to question it however, was another case entirely.

 Alas it wouldn’t hurt to try, he accepted, given their civil talk thus far. “Bokuto…?”

“No.”

 Well, Akaashi hadn’t seen that coming.

“… _No?”_

 Gradually Bokuto turned with hand raised by his head, proudly displaying the potato in his grasp. Granted the knife work was sloppy in places, but he had done his very best to recreate his large, wild eyes, that eccentric grin, and the stripes of his dual coloured hair upon the surface of the vegetable.

“ _Bo-tato_.”

 Akaashi very nearly fell off the crate.

“B-Bo…” With an almighty sweep he lunged forward, head in his hands adrift a mist of utterings and various grunts. Meanwhile Bokuto could only be described as something akin to a wounded child, setting his ‘art’ aside with cheeks inflating. Was it really so bad…?

“Hey..! I put a lot of effort into this! The least I could do is get a well done or-” That particular line of complaint was stifled when Bokuto noted the quivers wracking through slim shoulders. If he had to place a bet Akaashi was probably crying in dismay and-

“ _Hn_.”

 No… to his utter bewilderment Bokuto gathered otherwise, bubbles of laughing confirming that thought. Call it luck, chance, whatever… all he knew is that someone other than Kuroo had just found his terrible pun funny. Someone he thought unlikely to _ever_ share his sense of humour.    

“T-That’s awful, I can’t even...” Choking on further fits of giggles, Akaashi collected the will to sit up straight, wiping at an eye furiously. “How long have you been holding that one in?”

“Since you called me a potato in the office.”

 Wearing a grin that stretched wide across his face Bokuto brandished the vegetable, practically elated as it provoked another burst of laughter. “It doesn’t look half bad if you ask me, course I couldn’t cut my actual hair style into it but still you get the idea.”

“I’m almost sad we have to get rid of it…” Akaashi mused during a deep intake of air. “I’d suggest you keep it but it’ll become rotten over time and-”

“Mnghit.”

“Pardon?”

 To no one’s surprise the food in question had disappeared from Bokuto’s hand, locating itself tight in the pocket of his right cheek. Were it not for instinctive horror taking over, Akaashi might have applauded him for shoving such a huge potato there in the first place.

“ _Spit that out!”_

“Maaghke megh.” Bokuto believed this to be most entertaining in contrast, having to cup a hand over his mouth to stop the potato falling out whilst he laughed. Oh, how Akaashi wished he could share in such joyous endeavours…

“Look, eat it or remove it. I don’t care which. You can’t be caught tak-”

_“Oi chef! Someone’s stealing food!”_

 In a flurry of mixed emotions Bokuto promptly whirled his head round, expending so much force that the food left his mouth in the process, hitting the side of the metal container with a mighty clang. Judging by the widening of Akaashi’s eyes he wasn’t alone in his fears, green eyes darting about to spy someone leaning against the nearby counter.

“Oh my, it’s Akaashi and some strange man. Fancy seeing you here.”

“Hanamaki.” Akaashi opted for a polite, tentative nod. “This is Bokuto, he joined us yesterday.”

“Right.” As if bored by the account Hanamaki stood upright, hands slipping into the back pockets of his trousers. On cue he was joined by another, this one similarly vocal when he spied the two huddled in the corner.

“Makki… who the hell is that?”

“Ahh, Matsukawa. I was wondering where I left you.” Hanamaki snickered. “It appears we have an owl infestation. Either that, or Akaashi’s got part time work smuggling weirdos into the Roost.”

“I’m voting the latter.” Matsukawa not so helpfully jibed, setting a wooden crate down on the counter beside his partner. “Interesting hair though.”

Bokuto wasn’t all too fond of the backhanded compliment, and who could blame him. “They’re Plants, I’m guessing…?”

“Of course.” Akaashi whispered in amusement. It was around then that Oikawa strolled in, latched firmly onto the strong, bronzed arm of a man looked set to send Hanamaki and Matsukawa across the room, given the chance.

“What’re you two slacking over there for?!”

“Iwaizumi, there’s-”

“There are a lot of supplies that need to be put away. Now get to it or so help me we’ll be here all day.” This Iwaizumi character appeared drained, much like that of Sugawara half the time, rubbing a palm to his face whilst the disgruntled plant pair shuffled away towards the food storage. Only when Oikawa set a kiss upon his cheek did he convey a change in mood, soon spying Hanamaki’s protest in question with a sideward glance.

“Oh, hello Akaashi. Didn’t notice you there.”

“Welcome back.” Akaashi stood up this time round, motioning for Bokuto to do the same. “How was the trip?”

“It wasn’t too bad, even if I was tempted to throw some people overboard.” Iwaizumi concluded with a chuckle, permitting Oikawa to drag him over to the pair. “Anyway this is one of new members I presume?” He signalled to Bokuto with a jerk of his head, Akaashi sighing inwardly at his daft expression of admiration, mouth forming a large O.

“Yes, this is Bokuto. New addition to the Owls.”

 All things considered Oikawa didn’t think highly of Bokuto, a factor Iwaizumi quickly picked up when he spotted a grumpy pout. Of course, Oikawa _was_ prone to a sulk or two, so he overlooked that detail entirely, extending a hand. “Good to meet you, name’s Iwaizumi. I’m the head chef here.”

“What?!”

 Bokuto’s state of astonishment caught them all unawares (not to mention the fact he forgot to shake Iwaizumi’s hand), Akaashi’s eyes reeling backwards. “Don’t yell like that, it’s rude.”

“But look at him! His _arms_! Why on earth is he not in our group?!”

 Oikawa was outright peeved to have such a moron ogling his man, shifting round to hug Iwaizumi and cover as much of his body as possible. “You’re not having him.”

“We don’t want him, no offense.” Akaashi pressed, offering Oikawa’s captive a sympathetic glance.

“None taken.” Came an entertained laugh, Iwaizumi bringing Bokuto to his senses with a firm slap and squeeze to his shoulder (Oikawa still dangling from his torso in the process). Truly, Akaashi admired his patience. “The short of the matter is that I’m not the best with heights. I couldn’t do your job.”

“Ahh…” Bokuto withdrew his protests with a simple, understanding bow of his head. “Head chef is pretty good too, I guess?”

“It has its moments.” Iwaizumi replied only part focused, the other half of his attention drawn to prying a whining Oikawa from his body. “I have to keep a lot of people in order, so do excuse my yelling from time to time.”

“No problem.”

“Hajime, you’re _supposed_ to be spending quality time with _me_ , not speaking to him!” Oikawa’s persistence proved endless, voice strained with desperation and childish whimpers that before long, Iwaizumi failed to refuse. He tugged his nagging partner into a proper embrace, offering a fond look to the pair ahead.

“Right, then we should be going… Best leave you two to your own personal time, hm?”

“Pardon…?” Akaashi’s eyes flickered a few times, trailing to the food and containers on the floor. A single glimpse in Bokuto’s direction subsequent informed him that they had both come to the same embarrassing conclusion, one they needed to rectify immediately. “N-No, it’s not like that. We’re just helping out because Mama-”

 Thankfully Oikawa had some grasp of the conversation, poking Iwaizumi’s cheek and cooing with a delighted whisper. “… I said they were _work_ partners, silly.”

“No. You said they were together.” Iwaizumi could’ve hit himself when he realised his mistake, eyes fixed upon the man prodding at his cheek.

“Of course, but not ‘ _together’_ together... Honestly, don’t you listen to a word I say?” In a flurry of giggles Oikawa snuck out of the other’s hold, bounding to the door. “So naughty, constantly imagining everyone as couples!”

“ _It’s your fault I said it_!!”

“… To think that could be us.” Hanamaki intervened in reference to Bokuto and Akaashi, Matsukawa lingering over his shoulder whilst they surveyed the group from close by. They had long since abandoned their work to be nosy, naturally, dithering near the storage room.

“Maybe he already thinks we’re together. I mean we’ve been out at sea for so long, it’s possible he’s become delirious.”

“True… In which case none of us are safe!”

 Hanamaki’s outburst caught the attention of all, Iwaizumi groaning loudly as a result. “Don’t you two get involved with this as well. Oikawa doesn’t need the encouragement.”

“Actually I think Oikawa’s onto something, for once.” Matsukawa looked back to the storage room, “Maybe I should warn the others. Poor Kindaichi, Kunimi, Watari too, all them so young and vulnerable…”

 Together the pair stifled their amusement; Oikawa’s taunts sufficiently distracting Iwaizumi so that they could continue. “You forgot Yahaba and his puppy.”

“Nah, they’re together. Bound to be.”

“Right!”

 Stunned to silence at the madness before his eyes, Bokuto resorted to sending another helpless stare Akaashi’s way. No doubt they had been forgotten somewhere along the lines of the Plant group’s antics.

“Are they always like this…?”

“Yes, though we can hardly complain given the rowdiness of our own group.” Akaashi wisely informed, gently tugging at Bokuto’s hand for him to sit down once again. “Come on, let’s leave them to it.”

 Bokuto tore himself from the chaos to comply, the corner where they sat becoming a safe haven of sorts away from the rabble. Neither dared so much as turn their head when Iwaizumi’s voice grew in volume and various thumps could be heard, swiftly followed by several sets of footsteps making a mad dash out of the kitchen. If anything they were tempted to give thanks to Sugawara for such a mind numbing chore in the first place, it kept them out of trouble, gave them a chance to speak properly, _and_ they were being helpful, somewhat.

“Hey, Akaashi?”

 Cruel as it may have been, if it wasn’t for the fact Bokuto managed to pronounce his name correctly, Akaashi would have shut him down on the spot.

“Yes…?”

 Something was terribly amiss. In a rare instance Bokuto fidgeted, golden eyes turned downwards to a spot by his feet. The way his shoulders sloped, highlighting that cut upon his back once more, had Akaashi exhale and coax him on with a solemn, yet comforting tone. “Bokuto, what’s wrong?”

“I-I… don’t know.”

 This didn’t bode well, not in the slightest. What could possibly have caused so much upset…? Placing the knife elsewhere Akaashi moved along, settling nice and close to the withered soul whose dull gaze remained firmly at his feet. “Don’t know what?”

“What I should do.” Bokuto prompted finally, a bare trace of a nod signalling downwards, past the knife in his hand, over the kitchen tiles to the nearby container to… to the potato, Botato, of all things.

“I cannot believe you.” Akaashi cursed his reckless show of compassion towards such an idiotic cause. “Leave it there!”

“I don’t think you realise how much Botato meant to me.” Goodness, Bokuto was dead serious about this. “Our time has been short, but fun… I suggest we hold a service for him, then a minute of silence or two. I’ll bury him later.”

 Akaashi almost fell off the crate for the second time that afternoon.


	9. Iron

“Checkmate.”

 Reluctant yet yielding, Kuroo’s head fell into his hands, their form cupped and perfectly moulded to his shrunken posture. “Best of three?”

“You said that about the last set we played, and the one before.” From across the board Kenma gathered up the chess pieces, refraining from pandering to Kuroo’s further complaints as he sagged into a grumbling mess against the table.

“No fair, I always beat Bo.”

“It’s a pity I’m not Bokuto then…” Kenma spoke up, wearily acknowledging his slouching lump of a partner. A shifting came from somewhere close by in the meantime, Tora setting down the Cat group’s current script with a half-hearted shrug.

“Perhaps if you cut that fringe you might’ve seen the board better.”

“Oi… one more smart comment and I’ll shave off that strip of fuzz you call a hairstyle.” Kuroo moved his head enough to shoot a warning glare, merely rewarded with a bold laughter and Tora’s hand ruffling black tresses. “Anyway why are you here? I’m trying to have some alone time with Kenma in case you hadn’t noticed.”

“It’s my day off.” Tora carried out another heave of his shoulders, plucking the script from the table once again, but with no intention of reading it however. “Also Akane fancied coming over here so I thought I'd join her.”

“My, what a devoted brother you are.”

 Kuroo’s teasing ended no sooner had it begun when Kenma’s head whipped side to side in a manner of disapproval. Judging by Tora’s waning spirit that was a sore topic, Kuroo concluded, opting instead to divert his attention to a nearby clunk and rattle from the bar before Onaga surfaced, pacing down the row beside their table shortly after. “Hey-”

“Hm?”

 Kuroo mustered the kindest smile possible when he stopped in his tracks, waving a hand. “Thanks again for this, are you sure you guys are ok with us being here?”

“Of course.” Onaga lifted his chin to examine the Dome ceiling where Bokuto currently hung, attempting a flip in one of the rope harnesses. Akaashi meanwhile stood on the stage, watching from afar with Akane by his side, the latter of the two in a constant state of admiration. “It’s nice to have some company around here.”

 Not that he had the audacity to speak it aloud, but Kuroo found Onaga’s confession bizarre. In a silent means to question the matter his eyes met Kenma’s, a brow arching slowly.

“They’re a busy group.” Kenma highlighted on cue, nodding softly at the owl. “There’s not much time for them to sit about like we do.”

“Then perhaps you should break the habit and join us.” Kuroo prompted whilst motioning to an empty seat at the table. “You seem like an intelligent guy, do me a favour and beat Kenma at chess.”

 Before Kenma had a chance to voice his objections a distinct jangle of metal resounded, Onaga brandishing a set of keys. “Maybe next time, I have to return these to the main office.”

“What’re they for?”

“The bar. Daichi wants it locked up, can’t be too cautious after all.”

That was a fair point, the cats accepted in unison, although they could only wonder why on earth Daichi had chosen now of all times to do so…

“Right, I’ll be off then,” Onaga broke the silence with a light clearing of his throat, “If you want a decent challenge, ask Akaashi. He’s beaten Kenma before.”

“ _Has he?!_ ”

“Oh yeah! He has!” Came the delighted outburst from Tora, Kenma whipping the script from his hands before the papers were scattered from his erratic movements. Needless to say this revelation had Kuroo utterly delighted, his roaring laugh encouraging Tora to follow suit, the man slapping a hand to the table top.

“Akaashi’s busy.” There was no denying Kenma’s irritation when he retorted in a flustered mumble, scrunching the corner of the papers in his hand slightly. “Besides he’s only beaten me a few times.”

“Yeah and when he hasn’t, he’s come damn close to winning.” Tora unhelpfully jibed, nudging Kuroo with an elbow. “You won’t believe how mad it makes the poor kitten here, to know there’s someone in the Roost who can kick his ass at games.”

“Huh... We should’ve had him join our poker group; we might’ve stood a chance then.” Soon enough Kuroo became calm, gaze drifting in the direction of the stage where Bokuto had since come down from the harness, busily chatting away with Akaashi and Akane. “Speaking of which… they’re getting along strangely well.”

“You make that sound like a bad thing... Honestly, I’ve told you before Akaashi’s not a bad person.” Kenma kept his voice low, not wishing to alert the group on the stage to their conversation. He all but sighed when Kuroo leant back in his seat to inspect the scene better, arms folded across his puffed chest. “Leave them be, they’ve clearly managed to resolve matters on their own.”

“It’s true.” Tora chose to intervene, “I saw them in the kitchen earlier when I was helping unload the supplies. Your friend was rambling on about missing a potato or something, either way they looked like they were enjoying themselves.”

That sounded an awful lot like something Bokuto would do, Kuroo acknowledged in dismay. Still, the very notion of Akaashi finding some entertainment in his stupidity provoked new thoughts entirely; perhaps they really had made amends.

“I’m apprehensive.”

“ _Kuroo._ ” Kenma warned adrift a heavy breath, “How much proof do you need?”  

A fist curled tight in the sleeve of Kuroo’s shirt, teeth pulling at his lower lip. “I really worry for Bo, that’s all. He’s easy to mislead and I don’t like the thought of him being deluded by some pretty faced who-knows-what.”

Honestly, Kenma only held concern for his partner following that statement. “You say that, knowing that Bokuto is the one who hurt Akaashi yester-”

“I know, _I know_.” Kuroo dragged a hand through his hair, unable to tear his eyes away from the stage. “It doesn’t change the fact I’m protective of him.”

 Apparently the pair had forgotten Tora somewhere along the lines of their debate, the man turning his head which way as they spoke, and to top it off feeling decidedly awkward. “Not that it’s any of my business, but how about _you_ speak to Akaashi? Get to the bottom of things and find out for yourself what he’s like…?”

 Neither man expected such a profound remark from Tora, although it was more than welcome.

“I second that plan.”

 Script in hand, Kenma’s comment concluded with a scrape of his chair whilst he made to stand up, signalling with his head for Tora to follow. “I suggest we head back to our own office, this script won’t sort itself.”

“Sure.” Tora’s head whirled to that of the stage as well, “Hey Akane! We’re going back now!”

“ _Okay!”_  

 Adoration wasn’t quite the word, Kuroo mused upon observing the siblings. Akane was by her brother’s side in an instant, linking her arm with his, the two wandering behind Kenma out of the Dome. Alright so he hadn’t been here long, but from the looks of things (and coupled with Kenma’s brief slips of information) the two were almost always together. Furthermore Kuroo couldn’t deny Akane was a beautiful young woman in her own right, around twenty years old, so no wonder Tora felt the need to protect her.

 Unfortunately, there was no time for further ponderings. The sudden realisation of being alone with the two owls became increasingly obvious, more so by the echoed clearing of Bokuto’s throat from afar.

 

“Hey bro, you not going with them…?”

“Ah no, no. Wanted to stick around a little longer.” All hesitation was rushed aside by a merry laugh, Kuroo striding up to stand in front of the stage and propping his arms against the edge. “How’s practice going?”

“He’s improving fast.” Akaashi spoke with sincerity, golden eyes blowing up from such a simple, yet rewarding slice of feedback.

“You think so?!”

“Of course. You’ve stopped screaming every time you’re in the air.” A ghostlike chuckle accompanied those final words, Akaashi smiling in recollection of Bokuto’s previous attempts to use the rope harness. “I think we can move onto using the hoops, if you’d like?”

“ _Yeah!!_ ” Bokuto punched both fists to the air in tune to his declaration, overwhelmed by pride and the additional praise offered by his typically blunt companion. “You hear that, bro?! I’m a proper air- whatever you call it.”

“Aerialist, air acrobat.” The shrug of slim shoulders suggested Akaashi didn’t fret too much which term Bokuto opted to use, a bare glimpse of a smile lighting his features in the process. Naturally the pleasant atmosphere didn’t go amiss to Kuroo, who failed to disguise his own relief having witnessed his friend so joyful. Truly, if someone had asked him last week what their lives would look like today, he wouldn’t have imagined the Roost, the comfortable lifestyle or anything close to it.

 Another cough distracted him from that line of thought however, Bokuto shifting from foot to foot. “That sounds great, but I gotta’ use the bathroom first so if you’ll excuse me...”

“Charming, as ever.” Kuroo mocked, waving his friend off as he scurried to the exit.

 In hindsight, this was just the opportunity he needed, a fierce stare honing in on Akaashi when he was certain Bokuto had left the Dome.

“… I see you two aren’t at each other’s throats anymore.”

“No…”

 Fingers began to fumble, intertwining with one another when Akaashi found the means to speak. Neither Kuroo’s expression nor tone filled him with much courage, quite frankly. “Sorry, I suppose you must be annoyed with how I’ve treated him up until now…”

“I can’t deny he acted like a jerk, so I’ll let you off.” Any trace of discontent crumbled and scattered itself to the wind when Kuroo grinned, hands slipping into his pockets. “I’m really surprised you’re both so cheery though. Something good happen…?”

 _Oh no_ … Akaashi withheld a groan in dread, surveying Kuroo’s borderline menacing appearance.

He was one of _those_ sorts.

 

 The abundance of nerves previously tying knots in his stomach hastily subsided, eyebrows lifting as Kuroo found the need to hop up on the stage and stand far too close for his liking (the latter of which only served to confirm his despairing suspicions).  

“Excuse me?”

“Well, you know how it is…” Reckoning himself a professional of provocation and extracting information, Kuroo had this all planned. A few compliments here and there, some teasing hints and Akaashi would hopefully spill the juicy details. “Bokuto’s a fairly handsome guy, funny, wouldn’t you say?”

“He’s amusing, yes.”

“Right, right…” Good, Kuroo liked where this was going. “So perhaps you two had a little moment of sorts that ignited, I dunno’ say for example… not an attraction per se but a tiny liking or-”

 When Kuroo’s arm shifted to slide around Akaashi’s shoulders something snapped, or rather a hand swatted it away. Clearly he had misread the mood.

“With all due respect… Kuroo, was it?” Akaashi couldn’t hide the awkward wince from surfacing even if his life depended on it. “I know your intentions are good, but you’re going about it in the creepiest way possible.”

Ah… this was most unexpected.

“Pardon? No I think you’ve misunderstood I’m not-” Despite his flustered outward appearance Kuroo was thoroughly miffed, up until that point only Kenma had the ability to disrupt his schemes, a fact he held no desire to change anytime soon.

 Akaashi in contrast took great enjoyment from the scenario, hands clasped together behind his back and rocking back and forth on his heels. “I assume you’re not entirely used to conversing with people of a similar intellectual standing?”

“No.” Kuroo seethed through a twisted smirk, “Most people don’t pose such a challenge, I must confess.”

 Akaashi suspected that to be the case. “Very well. Then for future reference I advise you keep your nose where it belongs. I understand you care for Bokuto, but what happens between us remains private unless he states otherwise. Does that sound reasonable?”

“ _Absolutely_.” Kuroo’s voice dripped in sarcasm like acid rolling from his tongue, where it would likely burn a hole into the floorboards below, given the chance. By no means did he predict such an outcome to his efforts, or rather, he didn’t anticipate Akaashi’s cutting remarks to possess the ferocity and arsenal of a military base, but there you have it.

 Overall Kuroo only wished Bokuto had set his sights, metaphorically speaking, a little lower. Maybe then he would have achieved some success at bagging the poor sod a partner.

“If you really must know…”

No, Kuroo didn’t want to hear anymore. It wouldn’t do to kick a man whilst he was down. Regardless the other did just that, or something of the sort, tapping a foot to Kuroo’s shin to grab his attention.

“I don’t hate Bokuto.”

“I was hoping you’d say that-”

“He’s different.” Akaashi stressed in a kinder tone, his eyes flickering to the door when it opened, signalling Bokuto’s return. “A good different.”

“… _Oho_?”

 

“ _I’m back!!”_

 

“So we can see.” Kuroo replied, teeming with vigour once again. His endeavours hadn’t proved entirely fruitless after all. “Shall I leave you two owls to your practice? I’m sure you’ve got a busy evening ahead of you…”

 Teasing never settled well with Akaashi, and so Kuroo’s sly retort failed to escape his focus. “Indeed, I reckon you should le-”

“Actually.” Bokuto interjected obliviously amongst the tension, “Yaku’s headed this way to come get you, bro.”

“Oh... Brilliant.”

“ _I can hear you!!_ ” 

 Rather than apologise for his snarky comment Kuroo returned his hands to his pockets, a grin plastered across his face whilst Yaku stomped up to the gathering. Why it looked as if the poor sod had been running for miles the way he wheezed. “Evening plans have been changed.”

“What do you mean?”

 Taking a moment to poise himself, Yaku inhaled deep and looked to each individual in turn. “I was supposed to attend a meeting later, just Sarukui, Sugawara and I, but it’s been shifted to tonight after dinner.”  

“Right… and?” Kuroo didn’t see the point to this particular topic, and one glance in Bokuto and Akaashi’s direction suggested they felt the same.

 

 Luckily Yaku expected such a dismal response, shaking his head before divulging further. “A lot of people have been going in and out of the main office today, and just now I got the notice that for some reason the Plant group want a private function of sorts tonight. All the other groups have to make their own dinner arrangements in the Dorms.”

“That’s… concerning.” Akaashi muttered eventually, Yaku’s head bobbing in agreement.

“Isn’t it? To make matters worse there’s going to be more people added to the meeting... Something tells me this isn’t a simple case of debating a script anymore.”

 Apprehensive, Akaashi carefully glanced in Bokuto’s direction, brow creasing when he spied the man reaching an arm over his shoulder to rub at the mark on his back. “All we can do is keep faith.”

“I really don’t understand the problem.” Kuroo interjected, crossing his arms whilst he shifted his weight to one foot. Yaku foresaw that much too, but chose to dismiss the conversation entirely as he retrieved the newspaper tucked under his arm and began to unfold it.

“Anyway, the evening paper just came in. Thought as a fellow ex-reporter you might be interested.” Yaku’s eyes flashed a curious glint when Kuroo  jumped down from the stage to peer at the newspaper. “Kenma said you’ve been covering events regarding the East/West tension for the past few years, so…”

“Hey, you shouldn’t do that.”

 Somewhere amidst Yaku’s revelation Akaashi had since been distracted, patting a hand against Bokuto’s arm. The mark he found on his back from earlier was only worsening, and the incessant need to scratch and poke it wasn’t doing much good. “Is it hurting?”

“Nah- well… feels uncomfortable.” Bokuto muttered when he let his arm drop by his side. “It started playing up during practice earlier, but I’m sure it’s nothi-”

“Bo you won’t believe this-” Without a care in the world Kuroo interrupted their talk, torn between scoffing and rolling his eyes at the particular article Yaku had highlighted. “They’re closing a factory in Vol due to some ‘Eastern curse’.”

“ _What?!_ ” None of his previous concerns bore meaning when Bokuto heard that statement, roaring with laughter. “Go on. I wanna’ hear what they have to say.”

“Right, right.” Kuroo barely contained his own disbelief, restraining the fizzle of chuckles threatening to escape from deep in his throat. “So it reads here… ‘ _Mr. Stoker, notable business entrepreneur suffers a severe blow to his company following mass machinery malfunction, an incident which has forced him to relieve his workers and shut Stoker Industries for good... The shocking outcome follows after reports of several individuals being crushed under the machinery during an attempt to resolve the situation... Current casualty toll, unknown._ ”

“Shit…”

 None of the group appeared to find the matter humorous anymore, silently willing Kuroo to continue. Kuroo was to comply, of course, but not before casting a wary gaze Bokuto’s way.

“ _Rescue services are currently attempting to retrieve bodies from the wreckage, and whilst a police investigation has been proposed, Stoker insists the matter lies strictly within the employment of Easterners… He cites them to be unreliable, manipulative beings which have cursed his establishment, beliefs that sources suggest stem from a case of sabotage in the factory four years prior involving a small group of Eastern workers. Stoker will approach the government in the next few days to push for a review in the employment system regarding those from the East… more details to follow.”_

 When the majority of the group were rendered speechless Akaashi surprisingly found the will to pipe up, looking to Yaku specifically. “How many others know about this?”

“Futakuchi’s been handing the papers out in the hall, so I imagine the entire Roost’s heard of it by now.” There wasn’t much else Yaku could do to elaborate, offering a small shrug. “The fact is we’re seeing yet another attack on our people, in this city of all places. No doubt Sugawara will call for an increase in security, and good luck to anyone wanting to go on a casual outing.”

“Fair enough, it won’t do to have any of our lot caught in an unprovoked attack.” Kuroo noted, carefully folding the newspaper in half. “… Mind if I keep this?”

“Of course not.”

 Solemn as the mood had become, Bokuto knew his friend well enough to spy a trickle of… not excitement, but anticipation definitely. “Don’t tell me you’re off playing Detective again-”

“Bo, I’m onto something here, it’s all connected somehow.”

“Yeah, by Easterners. What else is there to know?”

“Aha…” Yaku gave a soft sing-song hum in approval, slapping a hand to Kuroo’s shoulder. “So you really _are_ invested in the East/West events... A strange hobby if you ask me, but each to their own.” A casual lift of his gaze alerted him to Akaashi’s own intense glare, prompting him to swallow a lump that had unknowingly formed in his throat. “Anyway we should-”

“You said fellow ex-reporter, right?” Kuroo wouldn’t be deterred from his path, eyebrows arched at the shorter man. “So you must’ve been following the stories of this city? Incident 1898 for example?”

 Defeated, Bokuto slapped a hand to his forehead before groaning apologetically in Akaashi’s direction. “Here he goes… He never shuts up about that case; I swear we had newspaper clippings all over our apartment about it-”

“Bo, don’t interrupt. That was undoubtedly _the_ most significant example of racism in the last few years; we can’t assume that things have gotten better. The police and the papers still say that case is unresolved!” Kuroo tossed his hands skyward, very nearly losing the newspaper in the process. “Everything was swept under the rug, no victim’s names, just one mention of it happening in Vol and that a few arrests were made here or there. As far as I’m concerned the people responsible are still hiding somewhere and-”

“I know, I know. I’ve heard it all before.” That one date had been drilled, stamped and embossed across Bokuto’s mind for the entire year he spent living with Kuroo, to the extent he could probably quote the man word for word, if he so desperately wanted. As it turned out, Bokuto desired anything but, a hand returning to feel at the mark on his back yet again. “Take your paper and go plot the grand evil scheme somewhere else, my head hurts thinking about it all.”

“Bo don’t talk about it like some child’s ga-”

“ _Enough_!!”

 The abrupt cry from another brought Bokuto to silence. What proved more of a shock however was the source in question, golden eyes wavering to the man on his left whose fist, tightly clenched by his side, trembled every now and then to ragged breaths. “Akaashi…?”

“ _You._ ” The aforementioned man had his free hand raised; index finger jabbed in Kuroo’s direction. “I respect your profession… and you to an extent… but there are reasons why that case has never been fully resolved. So do us a favour, get your head out of the fantasies and concentrate on script writing. That’s what we brought you here for.”

"I-" Kuroo looked gobsmacked, to say the least.

 It went without saying the declaration had the rest of the group dumbfounded, Bokuto’s eyes flickering madly in a bid to grasp the situation. Be that as it may, no sooner had it started Akaashi stilled, as if regretting his words. “Apologies… I… don’t think much of people who pry into such dangerous affairs… you’re better off keeping away where it’s safe.”

 Was Akaashi set on murdering him, or protecting him? Kuroo had yet to decide. Either way he accepted the man’s speech without further debate, hands held up either side of his head in a motion of surrendering. “Right… no I get it. Sorry for the trouble.”

“Mm.” Subsequent to a slight dip of his head Akaashi’s anger retreated for good, fingers interlinking in his usual nervous habit. “On that note, I… I think we should leave.” Gradually he sought to make eye contact with Bokuto, lips tweaking into a passing smile. “I’m concerned about your back, so… could we get it looked at?”

“… Best idea I’ve heard today, besides breakfast that is.” Bokuto mustered the widest grin possible so as to lift the atmosphere, an action which thankfully pulled through when Yaku poked Kuroo in the side playfully.

“Yeah, come on. I bet Kenma’s worrying you’ve fallen into a hole or something.”

“Now that I _highly_ doubt.” Kuroo joked, clouting the back of Yaku’s head before ushering him away. “Alright then, see you owls later.”

“Bye!” Bokuto wasted no time in frantically waving the pair off, awaiting their leave until returning his attention to Akaashi. Needless to say he hadn’t recovered from his outburst, and he was back to near on ripping his poor fingers from his body. “Hey…”

 “W-What?” There. Even Akaashi couldn’t disguise the crack in his voice, lips pursing shut tight swiftly after. “Don’t just stand there, we should-”

“I _know._ Gotta’ go get me sorted out,” Without warning Bokuto tugged one of Akaashi’s hands into his own, squeezing firmly. “Even so, you should take it easy too. You looked like you were having some panic attack back there.”

 Were the occasion different Akaashi might have objected to being hauled around in such a fashion, yet with his mind at present, he regarded the action acceptable. “… I think I was.”

 

 

“My, my…” A sly hum cut through the tense smog of the kitchen, Konoha flashing a smirk. “Now that you’re in the papers I suppose I should be asking for your autograph.”

“This is a serious issue, Akinori.” Washio held no desire to humour that suggestion, arms folded across his broad chest in their usual manner.

“I never doubted that for a moment.” With a careless toss the newspaper flew across the table, Konoha rising from his seat to inspect the stove where a large cooking pot sat. “Still it comes to no surprise you three would eventually wind up in further trouble.”

“It might not be referring to us.” Washio seized the paper before it fell off the edge, scanning the article once more. “There are plenty of factories about-”

“No, you clearly stated you worked for some Stoker guy, I remember it well.” Konoha brandished a wooden spoon, waggling it in his partner’s direction. “So what next, you’re going to claim another group of Easterners working for the _same_ company happened to get involved in a sabotage incident in Vol precisely four years ago?”

 Konoha was smarter than anyone gave him credit for. Nonetheless, it wasn’t his intention to cause grief. Setting the utensil aside he wandered along to stand behind Washio and lean in, draping both arms about his shoulders. “I’m concerned, that’s all.”

“Makes two of us.” Washio uttered, tilting his head back towards the lips brushing across the side of his neck. “Get rid of this before Komi and Sa-”

“Tatsuki,” Konoha pressed under a heavy breath, shifting to tuck his head in the crook of Washio’s neck momentarily. “They have a right to know…”

 True, Washio was firm about most things, but this topped the list entirely. “They don’t need to, not right now at least. You saw how they reacted simply explaining our past to Bokuto.”

“Mm…” Quietly Konoha withdrew, pulling a chair up snug so that he could rest his head on Washio’s shoulder still. “They did seem to get their act together in the end, although I’m assuming that was…?”

“A lie, yes.” Neither man exchanged glances, Washio staring at a blank space ahead as if searching for a grand solution to their reoccurring troubles. “Onaga confirmed as much this morning, since he’s the one who had to help drag Saru to bed after the party.”

“Go on.”

 It was only then that Washio shifted, setting a small kiss to the top of Konoha’s head. “He didn’t have much to say, but from what I gather Saru got drunk out of his mind as a precautionary method, didn’t like the thought of going to bed with the memories in his head. Komi was sober in comparison, and presumably didn’t get much sleep.”

“Those idiots…” Admittedly a degree of guilt struck Konoha for referring to them as such, Washio taking his hand into his own upon detecting the hesitation, “Four years on and they’re still suffering. I remember how difficult it was to get either of them to sleep when they first showed up; if it wasn’t one of them having nightmares it was the other...”

“That’s why we need to look out for them.” Washio stated matter-of-factly, Konoha lifting a brow in question meanwhile.

“And what about you…?”

“What about me?”

 Konoha could’ve hit the taller man out of sheer ignorance for his own well-being, eyes rolling back in their sockets. “You were there too. You had to help them escape, _you_ have those memories and no doubt there’s nights where you can’t drift off because of it.”

Truly, Konoha was a perceptive sort, Washio conceded with a rare smile. “Perhaps… I wasn’t the one who was hurt howev-”

“Sssh.” In a flurry of movement Konoha settled himself in the other’s lap, facing him with a look of discontent. “Honestly, you’re more like a father figure to those two than the man we’re supposed to call ‘Papa’.”

“I could say the same to you, the way you fuss over us… Not to mention you can be just as scary as ‘Mama’.” Washio barely avoided a hand swatting in his direction, sounding a laugh from deep in his throat. “Really though, never cared much for that family act, or the names.”

“Makes two of us.” Konoha gruffly mocked in reference to their earlier conversation. “This whole place is built upon good intentions and happy lies, performing to the ungrateful wealthy masses of the city… not that I dislike the performing part, but… there’s not many people we can trust, hm?”

“Says the largest enigma of them all.” Washio retorted, earning a prod to the forehead this time round, “You never did explain how or where you learnt to escape a straitjacket...”

 That trail of thought was disrupted when Konoha’s arms snaked their way back around his neck, moving in close enough that their noses touched. “And you’re never gonna’ find out. What’s the fun in giving away all my secrets?”

“Hn…” A fleeting laugh escaped Washio’s lips, one hand feeling its way to Konoha’s hip whilst the other trailed somewhere up the small of his back. “Very well. What do you suppose we should do in the meantime…?”

 

_“Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”_

_“Yup, two massive liars straight ahead. There’s no way they’re not in a relationship.”_

 

 Expelling a weighty breath Konoha straightened up in Washio’s lap, not giving their audience the satisfaction of eye contact. “Hello, you two… Out of bed at last?”

“No, we brought it with us.” Komi glanced over his shoulder, Sarukui joining him in a mocking grin. “Course we’re out of bed idiot, question is why’re you using Washio like a chair?”

“Perhaps he fell.” Sarukui hopelessly attempted to maintain a stern façade, spluttering the last part when he burst into a fit of laughter. Thankfully they had the kitchen door to hide behind, for it was serving to be a brilliant shield from Washio’s burning glare.

“Oh yeah?” Sure, Komi fancied entertaining that idea. “True, true… I’ve fallen on your lap many a time, and you mine. Sometimes with very little clothing on but that’s-”

“Do you _mind?!_ ” Konoha finally revolved in their direction, stepping down from Washio’s lap. Regrettably there was nothing to hand he could throw at the giggling idiots poking their heads around the door, or so help him he would have done it in a heartbeat. “Go bother someone else, you disgusting morons!”

“Okay but just to let you know, you’ve left the stove on. Better not be burning our dinner.” Komi badgered, Sarukui stepping round to enter the room now. Following a muttered curse (or several) Konoha’s attention devoted itself to saving their food, permitting Washio apt time to collect himself likewise. Partway through the act he subtly slipped the newspaper from the table, carrying it to a pile of papers in the corner of the kitchen where it was snuck between some older publications.

“Oh, Saru, that reminds me… I spoke with Sugawara earlier, regarding the meeting that is.”

 Nothing could restrain Sarukui’s displeasure in that instant, the man choosing to peer over Konoha’s shoulder into the cooking pot. “What did he have to say?”

“I couldn’t change his mind.” Washio’s voice became strained from the guilt, if not disappointment in his own lack of ability. “For some reason they’re persistent you have to represent our group in the meeting.”

“Why?” Konoha stared at each individual in turn, utterly perplexed. “They’ve never had an issue with you attending, Washio. In fact you’re pretty much the group leader in that respect.”

 Sarukui didn’t like the implications one bit, a notion shared by the rest of the group if their glum expressions were anything to go by. “It means we’re going to be discussing the next show and a lot more…”

“Yaku reckoned the same.” Washio further detailed, frequenting his seat with a thump. “Either way… Be careful, alright?”

“Yes, father.” Sarukui snorted whilst taking a seat across the table where Komi joined him soon enough. The remark conjured a chuckle somewhere near the stove, Konoha merely smirking from over his shoulder to his partner.

“Told you.”

“Shh, point stands you behave like the mother.”

“Agreed, Konoha is group mum.” Komi piped up, the trio cowering at the table when Konoha shot a warning glare and a grumbled threat to reduce their dinner portions. Albeit successful at prying Sarukui away from his meeting concerns, the jokes drew to an end when a light, almost timid knock rapped upon the door, attracting the attention of all.

“Sorry to interrupt,” Akaashi started to a wave of sighs and objections, because why on earth would anyone consider the poor soul to be a bother…? “I was hoping I could borrow Konoha for a moment.”

 Having perceived the new arrival’s nervous disposition, no one, especially Komi and Sarukui, saw fit to make unnecessary jibes. In fact no immediate response came, and Konoha stirred the stew of sorts a few times until he was satisfied, then placed the spoon to one side. “Something happen between you both…?”

 Aha, the group acknowledged in unison, no doubt they’d been fighting again…

“No, actually... Bokuto’s got a wound on his back.”

“Oh right, I saw that.” Sarukui confirmed with a shallow nod, “It looked fairly recent, rather red too.”

 Akaashi repaid the gesture soundlessly, resuming his explanation. “It is, but he hasn’t had the chance to properly take care of it, and I’m almost certain it’s infected.” Contrary to anything they’d witnessed in the past few days, weeks… months even, Akaashi appeared genuinely troubled, a hand clutching the edge of the door. “You tended to our injuries before, so maybe you could come take a look?”

“I'm on it.” Konoha mused through an outward breath. Alas there was the distinct dilemma of the dinner, moreover who should be left in charge, but luckily another set of footsteps lingered from somewhere in the hall, and Onaga entered the kitchen shortly after. “Hey welcome back, mind looking after the dinner for me? I need to sort Bokuto out.”

“No problem.”

 As if Onaga would ever refuse. His very arrival caused nothing but joy, Washio internally grateful neither of the more lively owls would be taking over dinner duties. “I’ll help too.”

“Oh no, you cooked breakfast.” The tallest of the group waved a hand dismissively, but to no avail, Washio leaving his spot at the table to assist in manning the food. In the meantime Komi and Sarukui wore matching deadpan expressions, Konoha ruffling Komi’s mad tufts of hair whilst he walked by.

“I don’t think anyone trusts us with the food.” He began.

“You did put a lot of spices in the soup last week.” Sarukui informed.

 Yes, Komi recalled the matter in question with a hearty laugh, tousling his hair back into place “It needed a kick… Besides I like to think I created a masterpiece.”

 Evidently his opinion went unshared, Sarukui’s frown worsening. “You created the largest queue for the bathroom going. That said I used the one on the Plants floor, forgot to lock the door too but you know, these things happen.”

“ _You didn’t_ -”

“I did. Oikawa was furious, when he got over the initial surprise of seeing me on his toilet, that is.”

 At that revelation Washio could only shake his head in dismay; truly neither Komi nor Sarukui knew the meaning of shame… Fortunately however the loud clearing of Konoha's throat broke the focus away from the topic at hand.

“I’ll be back soon, someone set up a pot of hot water on the stove whilst I’m gone.” No sooner had the words left his mouth did the reliable Onaga obey, bending down to inspect the cupboards. “If Bokuto’s cut is infected we’re gonna’ need it. Salt too, so grab that as well.”

“Anything we can do to help?” Komi offered in a rare act of sincerity. Not to say he was a terrible person, oh no, more that he was too preoccupied in mischievous antics to be considered totally reliable in these circumstances.

“Go check the bathroom, see if we’ve got some of the ointment we’ve used before. Saru knows the one.”

“Right!”

“Oh, and…” Konoha’s voice lowered to a stern command when he surveyed the room, brows knotted. “Give us a bit of privacy; you know how this’ll go.”

 Time was of the essence from Akaashi’s perspective, his hand tugging at Konoha’s shirt in silent protest to hurry him along to Bokuto’s room. Obliging to his anxious ways the pair swiftly stepped down the hall where Akaashi pressed the flat of his hand to the left hand door, nudging it open.

 

“I’m back.”

“Oh, hey!” Well, at least Bokuto’s spirit hadn’t dimmed. Sure as anything there he sat, upright on his bed with the typical elated grin. “Konoha, put Akaashi’s mind at ease for me, will you? He’s really getting stressed over this-”

 When Bokuto rotated to display the cut Konoha felt the colour trickle from his own skin. Akaashi had a very valid reason to fret.

“ _Bokuto._ ”

 Primarily the biggest cause of concern was the size of the wound, but that, coupled with an angry red swelling and patches of mutilated skin where a scab had attempted to form, only reinforced his doubts. Not to mention the distinct traces of dirt and well- it was best left at that…

“Ugh.” Konoha released an anguished sigh, heads in his hands temporarily. “It’s infected. No doubt about it.”

“It is?!” Apparently medical care wasn’t Bokuto’s strong point. “I mean it hurts a bit but I thought maybe it’d pass?”

“ _No!!_ ”

 Such logic was irrational, ridiculous even.

 Tossing his anger to one side Konoha approached the bed, his hand lingering a mere inch from the wound itself. “Was it this bad earlier?”

 His response came in the form of a wary shake of Bokuto’s head, Akaashi perching on the bed beside Bokuto to provide support, assumedly.

 “I only noticed the very tip of the cut,” Akaashi detailed, fingertip motioning towards the exact point where true enough, anyone would assume the wound was bad, but not as severe as the remainder of the gash conveyed. “More to the point… Will it be alright?”

“Of course, of course.” Konoha offered a reassuring smile; repelling the bizarrely maternal urge to pat Akaashi’s head (that mother joke had escalated too fast, too soon for his liking). “I’m glad you pointed it out now, give it a few more days and he’d be sick, guaranteed.”

 Oh no, Bokuto didn’t like sick. Sick meant staying in bed and Bokuto struggled to confine himself to a single space for long durations. “How do we make it better then? Shall I go wash it out quick in the bathroom?”

 Trailing footsteps indicated Konoha’s short journey to the doorway, where he called from over his shoulder. “You’ll need something a bit stronger than soap and water, I’m afraid. Give me a moment and we’ll start.”

 

 That night, when Bokuto pushed his boss too far, wreaked havoc in the factory… all of it came to light stronger than ever whilst he made to lie face down on the bed, a pillow tucked under his arms and upper body, and a clean scrap of cloth placed in his hand.

 _To bite on_ , Konoha instructed all the while avoiding eye contact and setting a steaming bowl upon the bedside table. His face depicted very little in the ways of support… simple pity, above all else. “I’ll warn you in advance, this is gonna’ hurt. Try to think of something nice, any distraction will do.”

 On instinct Bokuto’s eyes darted to his left, where Akaashi sat having pulled a chair up alongside the bed. The haphazard action made his cheeks prickle somewhat, yet with luck the other hadn’t noticed. “O-Oka-!!”

 

 No additional warning came, but it was better off that way.

 

 Bokuto could only imagine the sight of his back, Konoha knelt over him doing hell knows what with goodness- yes, something sharp... a knife? The mere possibility had him chomping at the rag in his mouth with a violent choke. He yearned for a gentle, forgiving diversion but all was lost when even his sight began to distort, images from days ago hurling at him in a cruel torrent.

 His boss had disliked Easterners with a passion, not unlike that of the man from the article they read several hours ago. Many blows and attempts to restrain Bokuto had been undertaken that night, that night which so persistently urged to overwhelm him in that moment. Eventually he was overpowered, and the blade, too similar to whatever Konoha had the unfortunate task of wielding at present had been dragged, teasing and ripping at the flesh of his back with abandon. Its bite complimented the vile, callous remarks and racist slurs which had seeped into his ears like slow acting poison. A substance hell bent on snatching away the occasional tranquillity sleep offered during those harrowing, unearthly hours.

“Keep him still.” Konoha instructed, washing the knife in a spare bowl. His free hand clutched a thick cloth tight that he held to the lower part of Bokuto’s wound, applying suitable pressure to prevent any blood loss. “I’ve cleared up the surrounding scab but I need to get in there and scra-”

“ _Shut up._ ” Akaashi’s tone emitted a cold, unyielding authority enough to render anyone scared, namely Konoha in this circumstance. Silently, he bent forward, a hand cupping Bokuto’s cheek to promptly haul him from whatever imagery had seen fit to plague his mind. “He doesn’t need to hear it, just keep going.”

“I get that but he’ll-”

 The tip of the metal barely made it to the sensitive skin when Bokuto snapped, upper body lifting from the bed in a mangled cry. Thank all the heavens shared Konoha responded in good time, swiping the tool away and backing off. “I told you we need to hold him still!”

“I’m not pinning him down like some animal!”

 Releasing a weighty breath Akaashi signalled for Konoha to move aside, the pair watching as Bokuto heaved up into a sitting position, apologies pooling from his mouth when the cloth gag dropped to the bed. “I-I don’t want to cause so much trouble… so g-gimme’ a minute, okay…? Then we can… continue…”

 Akaashi’s parting lips indicated another incoming complaint trained upon Konoha, the man halting it however with a shake of his head. “There’s no kind method to this, you know from your own experience.”

“He does…?”

 This was news to Bokuto, relieving, dare he say it. Regardless the sudden verbal slip had a different effect entirely on Akaashi, his eyes narrowed to intense slits. “You just had to let that out, didn’t you…?”

 No matter, Bokuto would’ve learnt about it eventually.

 

 When Akaashi resigned himself to fate and began to unfasten the buttons of his shirt Bokuto saw the familiar, cruel recollection of Sarukui’s injuries burst into view. “It’s true though. I was injured a couple of years ago… it wasn’t infected so much as yours but the possibility was there, so I’ve been in your position.” To conclude his shirt was discarded and he shifted to present a scar, albeit healed, which mirrored Bokuto’s. Nothing quite as gruesome as Sarukui’s then, Bokuto gratefully realised.

“How did you…?”

“Now’s not the time for such talk.” Akaashi spoke up quietly, gathering every ounce of compassion possible. “The sooner we wash that wound the better.”

“Agreed but…” Bokuto hesitated when two sets of eyes fixated upon his fidgeting form. “Could I sit up, maybe…? I’ll hug the pillow or something, I dunno’ it just makes me more comfortable.”

“Why not hold Akaashi? Since he’s here and all might as well make use of him.” Konoha proposed amidst the revival of his fox-like smile. Naturally Bokuto took to the idea like a duck to water, but their previous fights taught him to behave otherwise, hastily snatching up the pillow instead.

“This will do.”

 For reasons unbeknown to either of his spectators, it had only just dawned upon them how well built the man was. Try as he might to convince them, the pillow practically shrunk in his hold, huddled to his chest in a vice-like grip. This wouldn’t bode well at all.

“On second thoughts… Konoha makes a good point.”

 Neither Akaashi nor the screams in his head knew what on earth he was playing at when he made that statement, Bokuto and Konoha gawking wide eyed for a moment.

“Did I…?”

“Did he?!”

“Yes, as much as it pains me to admit it.” Akaashi plucked his shirt from the floor and quickly set about dressing himself, “You can hold onto me, but just while Konoha’s sorting your back out.”

“Thank you! I-I um, it won’t be weird I promise.” Bokuto’s efforts to hide his delight, and embarrassment, were forever in vain, enticing a widening smirk to stretch across Konoha’s features. “That is to say- what I mean is I won’t be creepy, yeah. I’m only doing it because the pillow’s useless. You’re not useless, Akaashi.”

“Get on with it.” Came the blunt reply, Akaashi’s arms outstretched and filled with an eager Bokuto in record time. Turn the clock back a few years and he might have hit anyone who dared so much as touch his hand, and yet Bokuto was different. A good different, Akaashi reminded himself once more when arms wrapped around his upper torso, Bokuto’s head tucked neatly between his neck and collarbone.

“Ready.”

 Honestly, something about his behaviour was extremely cute.

 

 Maybe it was the sheer pain coursing through his body, or the high of clinging to someone you fancy the heck out of, but Bokuto transformed from a shuddering angst-ridden wreck to babbling nonsense in seconds, Konoha’s amusement making itself known with the occasional ripple of laughter.

“I must say you’ve just become the easiest patient of mine to date.” Mid-sentence he dabbed at the cut with a soaked cloth, the hellish warm water and salt solution prompting Bokuto to squeeze Akaashi tight and swear for good measure.

“You’re a sadist.”

“Agreed.” Akaashi chipped in, patting the back of Bokuto’s head in a silent reminder to ease on the grip.

 With a hefty sigh Konoha resumed his work, resisting the urge to reel his eyes elsewhere all the while his knife was still at hand. “You two are absolute babies. Together you have a grand total of two injuries yet you whine as if you’d undergone an amputation.”

“Did you have to do this for Saru?” Bokuto aimed to deter Konoha’s attention from them both, relishing in the shattered groan it produced. “Can’t imagine that was much fun, considering all of his injuries.”

“No, it was awful.” Konoha jabbed a finger in Bokuto’s side, proceeding to wash the slash with more force. “Bastard couldn’t use his legs, but he had more than enough upper body strength to send me across the room when we were partway done. Rude if you ask me, we’d only just met!”

“With all due respect I wanted to do that mysel- ow! Will you stop that?!” Akaashi delivered another swat to the side of Bokuto’s head as his arms seemed marginally close to crushing his ribcage. “I understand it hurts but you’re acting like some child in a man’s body, a stupid big muscular one at that.”

“Thank you for the complement, again.” Bokuto grinned into the skin of the other’s neck, Konoha more than a little bit intrigued to hear that snippet of information.

“… Again?”

“I don’t have a clue what he’s talking about.” Akaashi deadpanned. “It’s not in my nature to complement people.”

“Akaashi…” Konoha started, spying the other’s reddening cheeks as he shifted in Bokuto’s hold. “Never mind, shall I at least assume you two are on good terms now?”

 Neither found the desperate urge to reply, Bokuto lifting his head to offer Akaashi a cheeky grin. “Who knows? Anyway, tell us about you and Wash-”

“Must I remind you that I’m holding a knife?”

“No, carry on.”

 

 


	10. Oak

 Dinner was a quiet affair.

 Devoid of fine-tuned wit, light hearted observations or any comment thereafter, the collective gathering of seven huddled round the table, cutlery clinking in near synchronisation.

“So, what about the new plans…?”

 Konoha was the first to speak, mustering a balanced tone that neither judged, nor enforced a notion of command. The recipient in question stayed quiet, for the most part, as if determined to finish his food before so much as thinking of a legitimate response.

 “Saru.” He tried once more, prompting the cautious stares of those nearby, namely Bokuto, who thankfully kept his opinions at bay and mouth concentrated on eating. “You can’t go in that meeting unprepared.”

“At what point did I say I was unprepared?”

“You didn’t, but-”

 “Then there’s no need to worry.” Sarukui set his cutlery to one side and leant back in his seat, acknowledging each owl in turn. “Perhaps I’m wrong, but compared to yesterday a certain pair appear much more… accepting of one another, no?”

 “They’ve made progress, yes.” Konoha flashed a smile in Bokuto and Akaashi’s direction. No word of events prior to dinner had been discussed beyond the walls of Bokuto’s room, as much as Konoha ached to discuss Akaashi’s rare show of compassion towards the other man. Conclusively all he could do was look upon them rather fondly, an action sufficient enough to have the two shuffling in their seats and exchanging awkward glances.

 “I think we can work together just fine, if Mama will allow it.” Akaashi proposed to a flood of relief, one that barely supressed it’s voice when the rest of the group made gestures to imply their support. It was only when Bokuto heartily bobbed his head in further confirmation that the matter was set in stone, Sarukui arching an eyebrow in Konoha’s direction.

“That’s settled then. We proceed as planned.” Sarukui’s arms stretched above his head, a weary groan sounding shortly after when the muscles pulled just right. “And thank goodness, because I didn’t bother coming up with any ideas this afternoon, so I’d have been in big trouble if you still refused to work together.”

 The room resonated with a low rumble of laughter, Washio rising from his seat to collect the empty dishes. “I expected nothing less. Really though, Konoha makes a good point, make sure you’re ready for whatever rubbish they plan on bringing up.”

“I’m sorry,” Bokuto intervened, assisting Washio in clearing the table. “I’ve caused a lot of trouble since I got here and-”

 Sarukui merely raised a hand, head moving side to side. “Say no more. We’re just happy you two seem on better terms.”

“But-”

“No.” The usual jesting tone grew firm. “I know full well I’ll be getting a lecture in that room one way or another, it doesn’t necessarily mean you’re the cause. My only concern is whether the ban stays, or something worse is put into place...” Sarukui glanced elsewhere, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t really like that sort of environment, so I’ve avoided meetings at all costs. With that in mind I’m very doubtful I’m the right person to be representing our entire group.”

“I think you’ll do just fine.” The reassurance remarkably came from Onaga of all people, having beaten an open mouthed Konoha to the mark. “As a group I reckon we trust one another the most. Most of that comes from the fact we perform dangerous stunts high in the air, but… overall I mean, I’m certain we- ah…”

 Gingerly a hand made to scratch the back of his head. Speeches weren’t exactly Onaga’s strong point, but without a shadow of a doubt his argument was sound. “What I’m trying to say is that no matter which one of us is there in that meeting, speaking on our behalf… it doesn’t matter, we’ll trust them. More to the point I trust you’ll do whatever’s best for us.”

“Oh shh.” Bokuto noted in rare delight how embarrassed Sarukui became from the praise, getting up onto his feet with a flustered grumble. “Well I don’t trust me, so how on earth you all do is beyond me.”

 Komi expressed his absolute frustration with a roll of his eyes and a reluctant outward breath, swiping a hand to the other’s backside with a satisfying smack. “Saru, all our acts rely upon equipment and settings that _you_ make. If there was a chance we didn’t trust you, believe me we wouldn’t use them.”

“I’m entirely with these two.” Konoha interjected, index fingers pointed to Onaga and Komi.

“Really, even me?” Komi jeered, Konoha nodding with a hint of dismay.

“Even you, just this once.”

“Alright, I get it.” Sarukui interrupted the jovial conversation as he wandered to the door, a hand subtly rubbing at his backside from where Komi had hit it, “Anybody else got something to add to the inspirational talk before I go?”

 Subsequent to brief hesitation Akaashi swallowed, head turning in the direction of the doorway. “I agree with the others… you too. Just remember to do what you feel is right, above all else.”

“Aw, thanks.”

“He’s serious.” Washio finally paced over to the bemused owl, patting a hand on his shoulder. “As much as I might regret saying this… regardless of what they throw at you, or try to accuse us of… stick to your beliefs and do the Saru thing, whatever that may be.”

“That sounds marvellous.” Sarukui teased, gently removing the hand before stepping backwards into the hallway. “Right, I’ll be off then… Don’t go starting a party without me, ok?”

“We won’t.” Came another short chuckle.

“See you later, Tiger!” Komi called out from his seat, grinning when laughter echoed from the further down the stairs.

“Love you too!”

 Apparently Bokuto had missed the story somewhere, half tempted to gag from the uncharacteristically cute (was that the right word?) nickname coming from Komi, of all people. His stare trained itself upon the smaller owl until his ears practically burned from the focus, whipping his head in Bokuto’s direction. “What? Can’t I show a bit of appreciation?”

“Course you can. Why ‘Tiger’ though?”

“Eh…” Letting out a puff of air Komi eventually left his seat as well, tucking it flush under the table. “It’s a habit of mine. One day he was feeling rather down over all those scars of his, and it left my mouth without thinking. I meant it to be a joke and luckily it worked… he cheered up, and it’s kinda been a thing between us since.”

“Oh…”

 Yes, Bokuto decided it was cute after all.

 

 Thankfully, the latter conversations stirred some life into the room and lured the remaining owls into action. Washio, in his typical silent fashion made no implication as to his destination when he left the room, Konoha purely nodding to the man with a grin on his way out. Akaashi meanwhile engaged himself in a stubborn, albeit polite fight of sorts with Onaga, stating that _no_ , he could not help with the dishes because the majority of his days were spent picking up after other people’s mess or running errands, and it was high time he learnt to take a break.

 Needless to say the humorous sight left Komi and Bokuto observing, or rather being a tad useless in one corner of the kitchen, redundant until Konoha came and tapped their newest member on the shoulder.

“How’s your back now?”

“Eh, stings from time to time, but can’t expect much else.” Bokuto’s shoulders bunched up tight about his ears in an overly enthusiastic shrug, and then fell back into place. “Thanks for your help earlier.”

“It’s not me you need to be thanking.” Konoha jerked his head in the direction of the man becoming increasingly territorial over the sink. It seemed as if Onaga would get the point sooner or later, surrendering with a dip of his head and a soft laugh before taking his leave. “Anyway that’s in your hands, for now though I suggest you go get yourself a bath.”

“I am not putting hot water on my cut.”

“Yes, you are.” So as to avoid a potential tantrum Konoha seized Bokuto’s shoulders, ushering him towards the bathroom without so much as a second to spare. “It’ll need to be washed frequently for the next few days, after that you can resume your life as some wax clogged slob.”

“ _Oi_!! That’s a little harsh don’t you think?” Bokuto had every right to voice his disapproval, sending a glare from over his shoulder whilst they entered the bathroom. For some reason Konoha appeared too preoccupied to retort, carefully plucking some grey and black strands between his thumb and index finger, scrutinising them with piercing eyes.

“I dunno’ what wax you’ve been using but it’s disgusting, no offense.”

“I got it from a stranger on the train. I think it was supposed to be for facial hair but hey, figured I’d try it.”

 “Ah…” Konoha wasn’t surprised in the slightest by that particular enlightenment, letting go of the hair with a moan. “Washio’s got some nicer stuff you can have; I’ll fetch a pot of it for you later.”

“Wait no, it’s-”

“Shut up and wash. We can talk more when you’re done.”

“Right.” Bokuto snorted through his nose, waving Konoha off before shutting the door.

 

 From there on out slammed doors and muffled conversation echoed all over, some of which pooled from below when one of the cats presumably left their dorm and began to descend the numerous staircases. Rather than devote his entire attention to washing the dishes, Akaashi’s head was angled on the path of the hallway, listening patiently, expectantly.

“Something wrong?” Komi grasped a cloth hanging from the hooks on the nearby wall and proceeded to dry the plates, his head cocked in question. “You look troubled.”

“I always do.” Akaashi scoffed, revolving back to face the sink and resume his work.

“Yeah, but more so than usual.”

 One by one the dishes were placed into waiting hands, Komi surveying the other’s features for a trace of a hint, anything to unravel whatever thoughts laboured his mind.

“He’s going to be alright, you know.”

“Who?” Akaashi blurted instantaneously, making the slightest of glances Komi’s way whilst he scrubbed at a plate with more vigour.

“Your new friend of course.”

“He’s not a- well…”

 Komi began to snicker now, piling up the clean dishes. “Go on.”

 Akaashi hated being trapped, particularly by skilful sorts such as Komi. Somehow they always managed to come out on top... “I guess we _can_ be friends if he wants. After all, we’ve spoken and… I suppose we have some common ground, be it somewhat scarce.”

“That’s more than enough to build on. Anyway like I said he’ll be fine, stop worrying.”

 True enough, Akaashi accepted reluctantly. It was then however that he found himself eyeing Komi up, spying for his own apprehension. “Aren’t you worried too?”

 “About Bokuto…? ‘Course not!” Komi released a booming laughter, clapping a hand to Akaashi’s back before folding the cloth and setting it to one side.

“I meant Sarukui.”

“He’s a big boy; he can take care of himself.” Something about his remark had the corner of his lips tweaking up into an amused smirk (though Akaashi dare not ask which part). Nonetheless the lively composure rendered Akaashi significantly concerned, eyebrows knotting and voice laden with understanding when he finally persuaded the words from his mouth.

“You haven’t read the paper yet, have you…?”

 

 Stripped of the people, the noise even, it went without saying the Hall became an eerie place. Regardless of preference all the groups had been redirected to the Dorms, and only those involved with the meeting were permitted entrance, greeted by Aone at the door.

 In a bid to lighten the atmosphere Sarukui joked with the man upon approaching the Hall, his efforts rewarded by a ghost of a smile and a large hand messing the top of his hair in a firm ruffling motion. Mission accomplished, presumably.

 Carefree actions aside, Sarukui paced across to the stairs reaching not one floor above, but the second this time round. Not many people ventured to that area purely because very people possessed a genuine need to go there in the first place. It was namely devoted to meetings and private affairs Daichi and Sugawara had yet, if at all, to expose.

 

“Aha, there he is!”

 It had taken a bit of guesswork, but Sarukui managed to decipher which door exactly he should go through, greeted by Yaku and Futakuchi on arrival. The meeting room, for lack of better words, was a simple set up, bearing the same rich red and golds of the ballroom just beyond the door, only with an abundance more clutter and furniture, namely a long rectangular stretch of table located in the middle of the room. His destination in particular was that of the side closest to the window, spotting a spare dark wood chair beside Futakuchi, which the kindly soul even took the time to pull out for him with a sly grin. “Long time no see, where you been hiding?”

“Up in the beams as per usual, namely wherever it’s dark and devoid of stupid people.” Sarukui returned the snarky expression, settling on the plush cushion of the seat. “Meanwhile I’m surprised you showed up, I thought they nailed you two to that door.”

“They wish. That said didn’t you meet the charming fellow on your way in?”

“Aone you mean? Yeah. Poor guy, don’t they ever give you two a break…?”

 Futakuchi was only half listening when he plucked a cup and the tea pot from the tray sat in the middle of the table, pouring a drink. “As if they’d do that.”

“Keep those comments down, you two…” Yaku eyed them both from across the table, increasingly aware of the door just over his shoulder. There was no reason to argue with Yaku, why he was likely going to be one of the only people they agreed with during this meeting, and so the pair complied, uttering further debates under breaths.

“Who else is gonna’ be in this meeting?” Sarukui probed, observing the sheer mass of concentration on Futakuchi’s face with amusement. Who knew pouring tea could be so challenging…?

 “Both Sugawara and Daichi, I imagine. Then there’ll be someone from the Plants group and the Crows...” Futakuchi held the pot in his hand even when finished, shunting an empty cup Sarukui’s way. “You want one?”

“No.” The displeasure in Sarukui’s voice failed to go amiss to his audience. “I’d prefer something stronger if you’ve got it.”

“Come now, at least try i-” The teasing came to a swift end when the cup touched Futakuchi’s lips, an awkward gulp and grimace later indicating the tea likely wasn’t up to scratch. “Okay, never mind.” Futakuchi leant round in his seat, extending the cup towards the nearby plant pot where he promptly dumped the offending liquid.

“No good?” Yaku seized the opportunity to mock, snatching up the pot so that he could prepare his own drink.

“Disgusting.” Came the equally bitter response, Futakuchi sending Sarukui a knowing glance whilst he reached into the inner pocket of his jacket, where he soon produced a small hip flask. “Thankfully I do have an alternative.”

“Aha, good man! I knew you wouldn’t let me down.”

 Revelling in the prospects of more suitable refreshments for the upcoming dull event, Sarukui’s gaze wandered in Yaku’s direction and absorbed, with some glee, the absence of any paper or work related material.

“I take it you didn’t bring any new plans either?”

“Of course not.” The skin on the bridge of Yaku’s nose creased when he frowned, lips tugging upwards into an offended pout. “Load of rubbish all this, if you ask me.”

“Cheers to that.” Futakuchi tucked the hip flask back in his inner pocket when both cups were filled, his toast concluded with a swig of his own drink. “Ah, much bette-”

“ _Sorry for the delay_!”

 On cue the trio made to look sharp, shifting in their seats whilst Sugawara and Daichi entered, Ennoshita and of course, as luck would have it, Oikawa striding in not long after.

“I feared you’d all gotten lost.” Futakuchi jeered, waving off any respective glares with laughter.

 Nobody chose to humour his greeting. Instead Sugawara and Daichi took place at the head of the table, setting down a wad of documents. As for the evidently favoured children, Oikawa wedged himself beside Yaku to be closest to Sugawara, and Ennoshita mirrored his actions on the opposite side, refusing to give Futakuchi a shred of his attention. That just about reduced Sarukui to being the odd one tacked on the end, farthest away from the bosses, but he didn’t expect much else.

What a load of fun this would be…

 

“Thank you all for coming tonight, especially you Oikawa, I apologise this had to intervene with your group’s plans.” Daichi’s shoulders shrugged and he wore a look of pity, Oikawa returning the gesture with a twisted smile.

“No need to apologise. I would hate to miss such an important event.”

 That didn’t strike Sarukui as the most encouraging statement, a thought swiftly supported by Oikawa’s subtle glare in his direction. Perhaps it was their little scrap the other day which had him in a foul mood?

 One sip to get things going, Sarukui recollected internally as he quietly brought his cup to his lips, his middle finger oh so carefully protruding from behind the cup just enough for Oikawa to get the hint and avert his forsaking stare. It wouldn’t do to overdo the drink quite so early though (not that he had much of a chance to, considering the small amount Futakuchi had poured into his cup) and so he set it down again shortly after.

 Meetings were boring and largely counter-productive, in Sarukui’s opinion. A late night meeting such as this was even worse however. Dare he even think of all the exciting things he could be doing right now? Call it laziness, whatever; he liked to think he had a point.

 

“I understand we had previous arrangements,” Sugawara began, indicating towards Yaku particularly, “But in light of recent events Daichi and I felt it was best we adapt the agenda and discuss the matters with all of the groups.”

“Why not host it in the Hall and have everyone involved then? Surely that would be fairer?” Futakuchi probed with narrowed eyes, his posture stiffening with a deep inhaled breath. With perfect timing Sugawara, alongside Ennoshita and Oikawa, went into an awkward habit of shuffling in their seats. Might as well have painted guilty across their foreheads, because something about the whole scenario seemed fixed, and if Futakuchi had to place a bet, he’d reckon he just caught the criminals sitting at the very heart of the case.

 Poised in his typical authoritative fashion Sugawara produced a smile in due course. “Futakuchi, you know above all else we do what’s best for this family, Papa and I wouldn’t-”

“Cut the crap please.”

 Oho, Sarukui liked where this was going.

“We’re not your children, and need I remind you some of us, if not all present in this room, are the same age as you two. So spare me the belittling family nonsense.”

 

 Well, there was no room to argue why Futakuchi excelled at his job in security, the man was sharp and conclusive in his ways. So much so that even Sugawara struggled to form a suitable comeback.

“Very well… Oikawa, if you’ll please explain.”

“With pleasure.” On that note Oikawa revealed a slim folder which he dropped to the surface carelessly. “I have places I’d much rather be so let’s keep this short… I came here for answers. _If_ I am satisfied then I’ll retract my case and be on my way.”

“Same here.” Ennoshita echoed the other’s behaviour, wielding his own file.

 

 Pity, if someone had told Sarukui this was a reading club he’d have gladly brought some material of his own... But alas that was another thought best left unheard, smile widening from behind the shadow of his tea cup.

“The thing is, all nicknames aside, our family as a unit is facing some tension. Tension I’d rather like to get rid of.” Sugawara viewed each man in turn, Yaku merely responding with a half nod of sorts whilst Futakuchi remained stern. As for final participant… he had slouched partway down his seat out of sight, Sugawara noting that much with an arched brow.

“Would you rather sit on the floor, Sarukui?”

“Nah.” In spite of his objection Sarukui refused to sit upright, chuckling from his fairly comfortable position. “I’m waiting for someone to have the courage to speak their mind, I’m sure they’re _dying_ to get it off their chest by now…”

“Suga I _told_ you this was pointless!” Oikawa snapped, slapping a hand to the table top. “Be firm with him!”

“Yes, yes I will just be-”

 “ _I’ll do it._ ” Ennoshita had had enough, voicing his own complaints amidst their debate (to the surprise of all).

 Alright, Sarukui accepted whilst pulling himself upright, he fancied a verbal sparring with someone other than Oikawa once in a while. Why shouldn’t it be Ennoshita?

“The fact is… argh, how to put it…” Everyone waited in silence for Ennoshita to continue, his hand rubbing at his chin in contemplation. “I’ll be honest, whenever we write a script I expect complications, I _know_ things won’t work out, be it someone is injured, or falls ill close to the show night… but still, I feel I spend most of my time adapting our programme because of the Owl group.”

 Sarukui took the chance to swig from his cup again, digesting the opening statement with a great deal of contempt. “Really now…? Go on.”

“It should be obvious, no?! It was difficult enough deciding on an act you lot could perform in the first place-”

“Which we resolved, _on our own_.” Sarukui pressed, setting the cup down. “Next.”

 Granted Ennoshita had some presence of authority, but that proved somewhat useless in this situation (in other words, he never quite anticipated Sarukui to be so tenacious). Clearing his throat the man opened his file to sort through some papers, no doubt searching for the second best argument at his disposal. “O-Ok… here! Collaborations, so far your lot are the worst for engaging with other groups. I have the information!”

 A single slip of paper was pushed in Sarukui’s direction, both he and Futakuchi acknowledging the document with very little regard. “Wow, you’ve got a lot of free time on your hands… writing all this down.”

“It proves my point.” Ennoshita tucked the sheet away in a flurry of haste, soundlessly admitting defeat with that first endeavour. “Fine then, what about last year, and our plans to expand the Roost to outdoor performances across the city? Need I remind you it’s thanks to _your_ group that those shows never went ahead?!”

“We never told you to stop them!”

“You refused to take part.”

“No.” Sarukui asserted, “We clearly stated that _some_ of us could perform, but not all. I’m sure there are people around this table who will understand when I say Akaashi has good reasons for not being able to leave the Roost so freely.” Now seemed like a better time than any to send a glare in Oikawa’s direction, the man visibly shrinking.

“… He’s not wrong, Ennoshita. Drop that argument.”

 Judging by the faces of his spectators no one had a clue whose side Oikawa was on, yet just this once he sided with the owl, a notion that left a bitter aftertaste in his mouth. Ennoshita in the meantime conveyed equal displeasure, crossing his arms over his chest. “My point exactly… You say Akaashi has his reasons, but will anyone tell us what they are?”

 Notably most, if not all of his company traded stares, waiting for one another to speak up.

“I thought not.” No matter, this was all the evidence Ennoshita required. “On the behalf of the Crows all I can say is that no, not everyone, but _some_ of us have our doubts about certain groups. It hasn’t gone unnoticed that there are shared pasts between members of various groups, and so I expect there to be a bond, but still… to completely hide it from the rest of us, even when it causes difficulties to the entire Roost? That’s what I hate.”

“Ennoshita, your point is made.” Sugawara insisted with a forced smile, all too wary of Oikawa’s on/off insecurity surrounding this topic. “Shall we press on?”

“ _No_!” Goodness, the man had some fight in him when it mattered. “I trust the Plants group, I trust the Cats but by no circumstances do the majority of us have any reason to trust the Owls. We know absolutely nothing about you! How can anybody work based on such corrupted connections?”

 “Hold it!” It was now Yaku’s turn to intervene, significantly beating Futakuchi to the matter. “Is this meeting just some set up… some blatant witch hunt for you to all gang up on one group?!”

 A heavy puff of air came from Daichi of all people, the man quietly raising a hand. “Please, don’t phrase it that way, it’s not like that.” My, he smacked of a liar, every fibre of his being near on quaking with trepidation at the very sight of Oikawa and his rapidly flaming temper.

“Yaku is right; this is exactly what it looks like… Exactly what it _is_.” Perhaps had the mood been better, Sarukui might have thanked Oikawa for his honesty. “The Crows and Plants, mostly I, are very worried about your secretive little group hiding away in the Dome. More to the point, I don’t feel like it’s a suitable environment for Akaashi to be working in.”

“ _What?!”_

This was becoming ridiculous, fast.

“You heard me.” Oikawa’s eyes closed to mere slits, trained upon Sarukui. “Ever since he joined your group nothing good has come of it. Two years on he’s still hurt, _hurting_ I should say. He insists on shutting himself away from the rest of us… and why if I didn’t know any better I’d say you’re encouraging such behaviour.”

 If it weren’t for the alcohol residing in the cup, Sarukui would have gladly thrown it at the other man by now.

“Akaashi _chose_ to be in our group, it was never forced upon him and by all means he’s free to leave if he wants, if… if that’ll make him happier.” The angered tone in Sarukui’s voice waned towards the end. “Honestly Oikawa, I know you don’t trust me, but really, we _do_ have Akaashi’s best interests at heart.”

“Then it’s official.” The limelight set upon Sugawara, Oikawa sending him a nod. “I request to have Akaashi move to the Plants group, especially now they’ve taken some halfwit into their gathering…”

 Alright, things were becoming a tad personal, and Sarukui fully intended to rectify the matter. “Akaashi and Bokuto have made amends. There’s no longer any reason why they shouldn’t continue working together, more importantly take part in the shows.”

“Really?” Sugawara and Daichi looked to one another in astonishment, almost thrilled even by the news. “Then we should-”

 “ _No._ This is _far_ from over.” Oikawa spat, thoroughly insulted by their change of heart, “It still stands that two groups are undecided about co-operating with a rabble of- who knows what you lot even are… Showing up from all sorts of places…”

“For the record Konoha and Onaga, Akaashi too even… they’re not at fault here.” Ennoshita made a bold effort to appease Oikawa, the man calming to an extent. “Akaashi’s circumstances are different, and a little complicated, true… but as for the other two we all met them in our early Roost days. Problem is- and… I really try to think the best of you all… but you three…”

 Ah, Sarukui knew very well what unpleasant turn he was gearing towards. It conjured a nasty feeling to snake through his innards, and summon a scowl which twisted his near permanent smile.

“What… scared or something? Worried about the three who showed up late one terrible evening to crash in on your happy little family?”

“You were soaked in blood!” The sight had been truly disturbing, Ennoshita biting at his lower lip in hesitation and recollection of those memories. “No one knew what happened, and I highly doubt many people do now!”

 Tiresome wasn’t the word for this, not at all.

 Futakuchi had patiently observed the petty accusations for some time, but at this particular point saw fit to furrow his brows intensely upon the man to his right. “It’s none of your damn business. Does everyone have to automatically surrender their life story the moment they walk through this door? Hell, do Aone and I have to do the same?!”

“N-No!”

“ _Then why these guys_?!”

 Yaku agreed whole heartedly, head bobbing amidst a thoughtful hum. “I think we’ve said enough for one day. The Cats have no objections to working with the Owls, and since _we’re_ the ones largely responsible for show set up and scripts, I suggest the rest of you back off.”

 Supposedly that was not the answer Oikawa wanted to hear, far from it, and quite frankly the man wouldn’t be satisfied until someone’s head was put on a stick outside the Roost entrance. “Mama, don’t you think it’s time we got to the actual point of this meeting…?”

“Oh? You mean public humiliation wasn’t it?” Futakuchi offered up his opinion to a less than amused crowd (with the exception of Yaku and Sarukui, of course). By all means Sarukui couldn’t begin to express his gratitude that he had a few supporters in the room, at the very least... but sadly none of the remaining audience found the remark entertaining, Sugawara gingerly tugging at the pile of documents sat before him on the table.

“The thing is… I want nothing more than for us to trust one another, but something very recent has surfaced which questions the safety of the Roost, and of everyone inside.” When he soon pried a newspaper from the bundle Futakuchi leant in, doubt further consuming his features.

“Today’s paper…?”

“Yes.” Nerves, maybe fear even, began to wrack Sugawara’s voice when he stood up, sliding the tabloid Sarukui’s way. “I’m sorry. There’s no easy way to go about this, so… just read it, and tell us the truth.”

 At that precise moment Sarukui needed but one good reason to walk out of that door, and somehow he suspected this to be it. “The truth about…?”

 “We need to know if this article is referring to you three, or not. A simple yes or no.” Goodness, Sugawara really did seem troubled, hands fumbling and body language uncharacteristically timid.

 “What exactly do you-”

 

_Oh._

 

 It didn’t matter. No amount of money, bribery or blackmail could coerce Sarukui into explaining what happened next. A single glance at the factory name smacked him into a dumbfounded hush, raspy breaths escaping his lips past the choking lump that had moulded somewhere in his throat.

“… _Is this your idea of a joke_?”

 It was high time to finish that ‘tea’, Sarukui confirmed amongst the screaming haze, downing the remaining liquid in one.

 Both ‘parents’ immediately jumped at his comment, desperate to resolve the conversation before- well, whatever could possibly happen. “Saru no, don’t take it the wrong way- we thought perhaps you’d read it before and-”

“So that’s why he…” Aha, Washio’s behaviour made sense, his urge to put the newspaper away when they entered the kitchen earlier, that is… Yes, heaps and heaps of common sense that Sarukui barely knew what to do with in his current state.

_Malfunction, bodies, sabotage…_

 Sarukui’s mind didn’t- _couldn’t_ fully comprehend the article in his hands. Nonetheless, he got the whole gruesome picture in an instant.

 

 There were three routes open at present; a) he could punch Oikawa because he was the closest annoyance at hand, b) fall further into a state of inner madness or c)…

C he had yet to decide upon.

 

“Hey.” Futakuchi gave his shoulder a firm squeeze, doing what anyone in their right mind should have done and pry the newspaper from tightly clenched, trembling hands. It was barely a distraction, but a distraction regardless, one that a dull-eyed Sarukui recognised with a small grunt.

 It’s not that Sarukui appeared pathetic, far from it in fact. No, if he could concentrate long enough he’d realise the group had been set into a state of near shock, Oikawa too displaying some concern for his safety as Sarukui visibly tensed in anger, eyes turning wild in frustration.

“I…”

“Saru, please.” Sugawara got up to move round the table, “I told you we had no idea if you’d read this or n-”

“Then why not bring this up privately?!”

“Please listen to me-”

 “ _No!!”_ Option C abruptly took the form of severe rage, Sarukui also rising to his feet. “Did you _need_ to drag me here in front of everyone?!”

 Daichi’s throat bobbed when he gulped, head flitting between his partner and the enraged man before them. “Need? N-no there wasn’t, but still-”

 No indeed. Sarukui wouldn’t settle for them sneaking in their pretentious opinions, nor would his aggression slide as a result, drawing particular witnesses into distress. “ _Think about it_. Was there no way, no logical, _sensible_ thought in your head that said ‘oh, _maybe_ that’s not the best topic to bring up in front of others, let’s respect his privacy and discuss it elsewhere’?!”

“I _know_ we should’ve thought it through, the point is we all need to know-”

“ _YOU DON’T_!” Sarukui revolved on his heel, throwing his hands to the air, “You don’t need to know a single, fucking thing!!”

“ _Alright! That’s enough!”_

 Mustering all the calm possible Futakuchi stood up, wandering to the window which he promptly opened, letting the crisp night air waft in. Subsequently he waggled a finger to beckon a shaking Sarukui closer, having him sit on the corner of the windowsill when he finally obeyed. “Don’t let them get the better of you, or so help me they’ll ask to have you restrained.”

 Sarukui opted against a verbal response, instead approving when Futakuchi shoved his own cup into his hands. “Here, for the nerves.”

“Glad someone’s got the right idea…” Came the gruff remark, the ‘tea’ vanishing down his throat in seconds. With it did a slither of his previous wrath subside, leaving a passive, drained wreck of a man in its wake.

“Come away from there...” Sugawara insisted, frozen on the spot for lack of any understanding, any clue whatsoever as to how he could go about redeeming the situation. Sarukui however shook his head in simple objection; he was marginally happier staring across to the gas lights illuminating the buildings across the city, soft and forgiving compared to the stares from certain individuals at the table.

“I’m not gonna’ throw myself out.” He spoke glumly; briefly rewarding Sugawara a shred of his attention (not that he felt he deserved any, for the record). “If I had any desire to kill myself it would’ve happened by now.”

 Sluggishly his chest rose then reclined, a substantial breath leaving his mouth. There was a lot to think about, far too much that oh, poor Washio truly sought to protect him from. It was around that point Sarukui made a mental note to thank the man for his attempts, fruitless as they were.

“Then could we have your answer… please?”

 A careful, lingering gaze fell upon the newspaper that Futakuchi had tossed to the floor, landing not too far from Sugawara’s feet.

“Yes, that article is referring to us… The sabotage part is a lie, however.”

 Upon spying an incoming retort Yaku jabbed an elbow in Oikawa’s side, head whipping left and right furiously. Not that Sarukui would’ve heard his snide remark of course, if his vacant expression were anything to go by.

“Saru…?”

 The sky was clear tonight; Sarukui noticed when his head tilted back, eyes darting from each star in turn, forging patterns across the murky ink wash of night. A single fingertip traced the rim of the cup, his demeanour absent minded, comfortably numb, a condition he anticipated to linger in a while longer.

“Saru, talk to us.”

“You asked for a yes or no, I gave you that.”

“This is hopeless…”

 The final complaint came not from Sugawara, but Ennoshita, his head cupped in his hands. “What exactly does this mean for all of us? Are we this business man’s target?!”

 Honestly, Sarukui wished he could’ve hit someone, anyone… and luckily, he had a few people in mind. “Don’t flatter yourselves. If he comes after anybody it’s going to be us three, namely me.”

“But-”

 Ugh, this was truly exhausting.

“Do you think there’s been a moment I _haven’t_ thought about this? The possibility that bastard’s out there, hoping I’m alive so that he can finish off the job for good?”

 Never mind, Sarukui reluctantly understood that he would have to leave that cushioned, dazed state for now. Rolling his head in the direction of the table, he recognised to some inner relief how Yaku’s eyes blew wide with sympathy when they made contact, enough to convey whatever encouragement he otherwise wished to speak aloud.

 “I think about it a lot, and no doubt so do the others...” Sarukui continued, “Ever since we started living at the Roost we promised that if it came to it, we’d do whatever necessary to prevent people here getting hurt as a result of our mess. Worst comes to it, I’ll go see the man myself, sort things out.”

“ _No_.” Sugawara and Daichi interjected in unison, Daichi settling down to let his partner carry on. “No, we’re not having it come to that.”

 In his usual practice of collecting thoughts, Sugawara began to place one foot in front of the other, stepping around the room. “You’re not the only ones who have reason to hide… the fact is however you may have to go a step further in the meantime.”

“As in?” Sarukui inquired, catching a glimpse of Oikawa’s uneasiness regarding Sugawara’s statement.

“Lift Bokuto and Akaashi’s ban, they can perform in the shows.”

 Pessimistic through and through, Ennoshita groaned. “What good will _that_ do? Assuming this Stoker guy intends to someday come after the other three… surely the first place he’d look is where a ton of Easterners are gathered?”

“That’s my point precisely,” Sugawara resumed, tapping the flat of his palm to Ennoshita’s head. “In the meantime we’ll have Washio, Komi and Sarukui kept working behind the scenes. If this man is clever enough he’ll potentially show up, and we can’t have him knowing they’re here. Although for all he knows you died, disappeared into the night or left Vol altogether.”

 Oikawa, exceptionally quiet compared to his attitude prior to Sarukui’s outburst, managed to tug his dry, pursed lips apart to express a mumbled enquiry. “You’re always so much trouble… How can we even prove this place is safe anymore? Aone and Futakuchi can’t keep watch all the time and…”

“It’s perfectly safe, has been for the past four years.” Yaku signalled in Sarukui’s direction gently, a fond smile gracing his appearance. “Don’t suppose anyone’s ever told you about that door, have they Oikawa?”

“… _Oh._ ” Both Futakuchi and Ennoshita cast a sideward glance to one another, having recalled the same instant. Content by their reaction Yaku’s smile widened, proceeding with his story.

“This one’s always been a pain, true...” Sarukui’s cheeks inflated from that observation, yet he permitted Yaku to proceed. “But not long after he got here, all his injuries aside, the three of them got thinking of a way to help the Roost, repay it for taking them in.”

“What’s this got to do with a door?” Oikawa conveyed very little patience for the story; he too likely tired after such a long and busy day.

“They made it.”

“What…? You mean all that ironwork?!”

“It’s true.” Sarukui spoke up, the pleasant memory providing a suitable diversion from his negative thoughts. “We based the locking mechanism for the second entrance on puzzle boxes from back home in the East. It took a lot longer to make than planned because my movements were limited, but we got there in the end.”

 Oikawa’s face painted a perfect picture of bewilderment, far too accustomed to slating the man to consider he might adopt a thread of respect for him someday, today rather. “I… I see…”

“And there you have it.” Sugawara concluded, practically glowing with pride as he finally stilled his pace to stand beside Daichi. “Now then, we’ve gotten what we needed from this meeting. I suggest we call it a night, hm?”

 

 No objections came, and when the clock struck half past eleven, the meeting was officially dismissed.

 

“You kind of scared me for a moment.”

“Oh, sorry.” Sarukui’s apology was mumbled, partially embarrassed by his earlier behaviour. After minimal persuasion the rest of the group returned to their own rooms, Yaku and he having hung back to stand in the room alone when the meeting concluded.

“Don’t be, you had every right to be angry.” Yaku jerked his head in the direction of the door, Sarukui following. “You know… I’ve never doubted you guys, not for a moment.”

“Thank you.”

 Unconvinced by the response Yaku’s gaze reeled upwards, lips forming a thin, tight line. “I’m serious. You’ve never given me a reason to think badly of you.”

“Come now,” A laugh produced itself from deep in Sarukui’s throat, his mannerisms a far cry from his distressed state not too long ago. “Surely you must’ve thought we were a little dodgy?”

“No. I was worried at first, but then when I met Komi, I knew that- well… there was no way whatever mess you’d gotten into, that it was your fault, that you deserved any of it.”

 Interesting, Sarukui pondered with an arched brow whilst pushing the door shut on their way out. Their voices had lowered to murmurs, cautious of potential eavesdroppers and those from the gathering lurking close by. “You two are pretty good friends, how did that happen…?”

 Yaku chose not to answer straight away, the two descending to the first floor, then eventually the ground.

“We first met when I found him in my room by accident, sobbing like a complete mess.”

“What?!”

“It was the morning after you first got here.” Yaku’s face bore nothing but compassion, a hand patting Sarukui’s upper arm. “Poor guy was so guilty for what happened to you he couldn’t bear the thought of being close, so he ran away… then he stupidly, quickly regretted that decision, sprinted all the way back to what he thought was your floor and into his room only to realise he was lost. That’s when I wandered in… my room is directly under his, you see, and… yeah, the rest is history.”

“I see, thank you for taking care of hi-!!!”

SMACK.

 To the horror of Aone, Yaku and most certainly Sarukui, his reply was cut short by a distinct Komi-like mass tackling his torso, sending the two skidding across the Hall floor.

“ _What did they do to you_?!”

 Komi was all too quick to interrogate, despite his partner spluttering and grasping for the air he had just punched out of his lungs. “Akaashi told me everything, about the paper, that prick and his factory, don’t tell me they got mad at you for it?!”

“O-One sec…” Sarukui found himself torn between laughing and breathing, shortly realising the latter was probably higher up on the priority list. Somewhere along the lines of their reunion Yaku took his leave with a kind smile, signalling for Aone to clear off as well and give them space.

“I was so worried, idiot.” A barely audible crack distorted Komi’s voice when he sat up, straddling Sarukui’s waist. “I begged Aone to let me in but then some of the stupid Crows showed up, saying it wasn’t fair and-”

“Were you trying to get into the meeting?” Sarukui’s eyes flickered in awe, reaching a hand up to cup his disgruntled companion’s cheek. “Silly, you would’ve gotten in trouble.”

“Like I care.” Komi leant forward, elbows propped either side of Sarukui’s head when he dipped low enough to steal a quick kiss. “Now answer me, what’d they say?”

“I hardly think this is the time or place.” Sarukui snorted, nudging Komi in the chest to get off. Surprisingly it took little for the other to oblige, both hands latching onto Sarukui’s arm to yank him up in the process until both were back on their feet, looking this way and that about the Hall.

 Carefully Sarukui’s hand interlinked with Komi’s, the typical lazy smile plastered across his face. “Shall we?”

“Sure. You’d better not hide anything from me though. I know what you’re like.”

“I won’t, promise.”

 What with their position now, strolling hand in hand like a loved up couple should… it seemed strange to believe the meeting ever happened. That said Sarukui became tired beyond belief: undergoing far too many emotions, extreme ones at that, sure took a toll on the mind…

 Komi acknowledged that much, but certainly wouldn’t settle for having his partner go to bed with such anxious thoughts. Only a few more steps across the courtyard and they would be at the Dorm entrance, which prompted a meaningful conversation.

“Saru… you’re not thinking about going to Stoker, are you?”

 On instinct Sarukui’s eyes darted upwards to avoid Komi’s questioning gaze. Why was everybody so perceptive…?

“Not exactly, not right away I mean-”

“ _Don’t you dare_.” Komi warned in a steely tone, “If you so much as step near that factory I will hunt you down and drag your sorry arse back, understand?”

“Absolutely.”

“No…” Komi pondered with a considered hum, eyes turned skywards as if the stars were capable of inspiring him somehow. “Guess I should find a way to stop you from even leaving in the first place, break your legs, cut ‘em off…”

“ _Are you serious_?!” That outburst came in a near scream, riling Komi up into a rowdy burst of laughter that no doubt alerted those living on the floors closest to the ground.

“’Course not! Konoha did teach me how to amputate a leg though.”

Ah… Sarukui couldn’t hide his dismay if he tried, deeming the threat of amputation a horrifying image best left shoved in a distant corner of his mind and swiftly set alight, never to see the light of day. Quietly he then hauled the entrance door open, herding his sprightly partner inside as quickly as possible. There was no need to attract an audience this late at night.

“Konoha shouldn’t have taught you that.”

 When Sarukui’s tone slid into something stern and his strides increased as he guided them upstairs, Komi had to admit it wasn’t half bad, fairly arousing even. Serious Sarukui was forever a turn on and he wouldn’t bat an eyelid to confess it either.

“I just had an even better idea.”

“Do tell.” Sarukui prayed sincerely it didn’t involve any more limbs, and Konoha’s ridiculous archive of hidden talents. Thankfully it consisted of anything but, Komi bouncing up a few steps to beat Sarukui’s pace.

“We’ve got all that spare rope right? I’ll just… tie you down to the bed and you can stay with me forever. Sound good?”

 Coming from anyone else that would’ve been creepy, and Sarukui would have considered yelling for help. As it happened however it was quite possibly the most wonderful proposal going, enticing him to respond with a cat like grin. Gradually he untangled their fingers, his hand dropping by his side.

“I’ll let you try it out now, if you can beat me to our floor.”

“Oh…” Komi waggled his eyebrows humorously, “Alright, you’re o- HEY!!”

 The sound of a door opening close by, and a pissed Daichi appearing set Sarukui into an early sprint, Komi racing after yelling all manner of well-intentioned profanities (it was his fondest way of expressing love) and height related comments pointing towards the fact Sarukui was a massive cheat and he’d be getting tied up regardless.

 Seven floors weren’t so daunting when you’re in a mad dash, both men granted with heavy pants and stomps of their feet as they finally reached their destination. Naturally they took no heed to their companions, especially a messy haired, half-naked Konoha who surfaced from round Washio’s door to scold them furiously, before returning to his lover when the two finally retreated to their room.

“ _Goodnight_!”

 For anyone concerned Onaga had fallen asleep a while back, blissfully unaware to the point no amount of hilarity and morons could pluck him from peaceful dreams. As for Akaashi… he was silently seething and cursing every ounce of his being that sleep never came quite so fast in comparison, muffling his ears with a pillow and hoping, _wishing_ Sarukui and Komi would recall he was only next door, and that the walls were _terribly_ thin.

 And what of Bokuto…?

 The bath had been painful as hell, true, but upon his return to the bedroom he found a book, one which contained the fairy tales he had discussed with Akaashi not so long ago, alongside the aforementioned wax Konoha promised to steal from Washio. The silent, but obvious kind gesture from Akaashi in particular incurred a beaming grin that barely faltered when he began to read. Sleep coaxed and tugged at his eyelids now and then, the man tucked up snug in bed, yet he refused to succumb, turning the next page of his book which he held towards the dim glow of the gas light on the bedside table.

 A lot of things were going his way for once, and maybe… just maybe, his luck wouldn’t run out anytime soon.

 

 


	11. Silk

Precisely one fortnight ago, they spoke of ‘tomorrow’.

 They were optimistic, reckless some would argue, daring to leap into the dark, chasing cobblestones and billowing clouds of steam to eventually nestle within the cocoon of the Roost. Nonetheless, it proved a successful endeavour.

 Within a couple of days the two found a sense of place, established relationships and in some unfortunate cases, strained them only to somehow barely save them once more. All in all it was a troubling affair directly corresponding to Bokuto’s wayward luck (and mood swings).

 One late evening however, when the newsprint read 21st November, a tremor ensued. Tension, accusations, fear… collectively they riled the late night meeting into madness which suffice to say, none of its participants could have foreseen. By no means would events within the walls of the meeting room remain confined, therefore talk of an unusually enraged Sarukui, the factory incident, and more flooded out across the groups, trickling into a variety of stories and overblown tales, as gossip often did.

 For that reason alone the Roost witnessed a change: nothing excessive, but enough to stir a sense of unease into many during the days subsequent. Good as its intentions were, was the Roost truly safe? What consequences could come of housing those potentially under threat…? Nevertheless, for the majority it inspired an urge to engage, and little by little the groups would meet, connect, and attempt to understand one another better. Dare anyone say it; fear of the unknown had brought them together, a common ground if you will. No one in their right mind wished for their safe abode to fall apart, and so any means to preserve the pleasant atmosphere were welcome.

 It went without saying, amidst the uncertainty but one thing stayed consistent. Time would progress, as it always did, and with the next day, and the one after that… hesitation began to slowly subside. Thoughts honed on the notion of the shows, and of livelier talk that conjured warmth in the upcoming winter flurries. November bowled into December; autumnal showers into snow, and upon the dawn of the 3rd a fixed outlook began to bend.

 

“ _You’re going to have a party?!”_

“… You don’t have to sound quite so alarmed.”

“Right, sorry, sorry.” Tasked with collecting himself, Oikawa waved a hand back and forth, observing via an upwards glance as Akaashi hauled himself further up the silks hanging from the centre of the Dome stage, as if it were the simplest task imaginable. “Still you’ve never wanted one before, you said you hated them, hated people even.”

“That hasn’t changed.” Akaashi barely stifled a laugh, opting to stop halfway up the length of fabric and lazily slide into the splits (again, as it if it were nothing, Oikawa noted with a grimace and an awkward feeling in his own groin).

 Further back towards the tables there was a rabble gathered; some of the Cats, Owls, and Crows too, huddled up discussing some exciting plan or another. Truly, the differing mood around the Roost nowadays was incredible.

“What’s made you want to go ahead and celebrate your birthday then?”

 Following a judgmental tut sound Akaashi shifted out of his proud display of flexibility to hang from one of the silks, an eyebrow lifted at Oikawa on the stage down below. “Perhaps I felt like it?”

 Fair enough, in most cases that would be a convincing argument. Alas this wasn’t one of those occasions, and Oikawa wasn’t taking any of his friend’s nonsense.

“Akaashi, with all due respect you’re not the type to just ‘feel like it’. There’s always a reason behind what you do.”

“I thought it was something we all needed.” The next reply came in earnest, Akaashi lowering his voice. “It’s not about me, even if it is my birthday… People are still worried about the news from the other week… and maybe a party is the right thing to have everyone together enjoying themselves.”

 Reasonable, Oikawa conceded with a bow of his head. “I think you're right.” Towards the end of the confession his voice trailed elsewhere, and brown gaze dulled, prompting Akaashi to carefully lower himself to the ground.

“Are you alright?”

 Try as he might to smile the matter off, Oikawa couldn’t, shaking his head softly as he paced to the front of the stage where he soon sat, dangling his legs over the edge. “I’ve been an idiot.”

 By all means this was bizarre behaviour for the usually confident soul, so no one could blame Akaashi for wanting to inquire further, joining him shortly after. “I don’t think you ha-”

“ _I have_.” Oikawa pressed, meeting Akaashi’s curious stare. “I-I… I’ve been jealous all this time, and I guess it took the meeting to realise… that and a large lecture from Iwaizumi, he scolded me so bad for how I behaved.” He took a moment to expel a weighted breath before continuing, attention drifting across the Dome to the lively gathering in the distance. “When we first came here… I always wondered why you went and joined the Owls, rather than with me in the Plants group.”

“It was an accident, mostly.” Akaashi felt the need to explain, shoulders shrugging meanwhile. “I didn’t intend to join anyone at the time; they found me up on the roof here and well… guess I found a common link-”

“My point precisely.” Oikawa interjected via laboured admission. “I suppose after all that we went through together, I was… insulted, stupidly so, that a load of strangers thought they knew you better, could understand and help you.”

“Tooru-”

 Oikawa held both hands up either side of his head, silencing Akaashi’s potential objection. “There’s no need to take pity, I know I’ve been in the wrong and whilst I justify it as being protective of you, it doesn’t change the fact I’ve been rude to those you care about.”

 There he goes…

 Akaashi’s face tugged into a kind, reassuring smile whilst he patted Oikawa’s upper arm. “They’re important to me, yes, but so are you… I don’t blame you for how you’ve behaved, I’ve hidden away a great deal, and so I can see why you’d reckon I was taken away by the group-”

“How’s Sarukui?”

“Oh…” Akaashi knew this would pop up eventually.

 Oikawa didn’t feel like lingering on one topic too long, jumping between various scenarios in his head much as he had done during the unearthly morning hours today, practicing his apologies until sunrise. “Nobody’s stupid around here Keiji, despite what some lead us to believe... We know he’s been missing since the meeting. Point is I can’t help feel partly responsible.”

“It’s not that- not entirely…” To say it was difficult would be an understatement, Akaashi inwardly complained. “To be honest not even us Owls have a clue what he’s thinking… he’s about as stubborn and private as we are. All he needs is some time alone to think, and he’ll be alright.”

 Oikawa acknowledged that much with a smile, laughing through his nose. “Guess we have more in common than we thought.” Which in turn provoked a peculiar idea in Oikawa’s mind, the man nodding leisurely in supposed agreement with himself.

“Perhaps I should speak with him.”

“Good luck.”

Akaashi failed to hide his dismay at that proposal, face deadpan, faithless and generally very discouraging. When Oikawa arched a brow to query further, Akaashi simply motioned to the crowd, Komi coming into sight every now and then amongst the sea of heads. “Sarukui’s got a fierce bodyguard. No one approaches without his permission.”

“Oh _great_.” Oikawa’s head fell into his hands, “Still, could be worse. Could be Washio.”

“No this is worse, believe me.” Akaashi’s head bobbed with a vigour that served to confirm his statement, Oikawa gradually sitting upright with a sigh. “Komi’s somewhat extreme when it comes to Sarukui. He’ll probably send you to the next life in minutes, assuming there is one.”

“Wow thanks, you’re incredibly reassuring.” There was a mocking tone to Oikawa’s voice, a familiar strain of emotion which filled Akaashi with some hope that he had managed to lift his companion’s spirits. “It’s not like I’m weak, you know.”

“Komi’s taken on a bear before, beat it too.”

“ _What?!_ ” Oikawa clapped a hand over his open mouth when he drew the attention of the far off crowd, eyes wild and widened in astonishment. “… Y-You’re kidding right? But he’s so small! ... N-Not that it means he couldn’t possibly manage such a feat but still-”

“I lied. I just wanted to see your reaction.”

 The corner of Akaashi’s lips tugged up into a sly smirk, Oikawa striking his shoulder with a hand to convey his utmost disapprova­l.

“You’re horrible, and so is your sense of humour.” Perplexed, Oikawa had no option besides wonder what exactly the man was playing at. “Honestly… I’ve had my suspicions but you genuinely have changed these last two weeks.”

“Have not.”

“Have too!” A smack came to the back of Akaashi’s head next, Oikawa grinning when the other returned to his typical gruff self. “Someone’s stolen our grumpy Akaashi away and replaced him with this strange, smiling creature I barely recognise! Who could possibly have done such a-”

 When a gasp cut through Oikawa’s teasing and caused him to still Akaashi poised himself likewise, eyes narrowed and fixed upon his friend. “… What is it?”

“Nothing, nothing… Just a thought.” Little by little a smirk spread across his features, Oikawa’s hand lowering at last to pat at a spot between Akaashi’s shoulder blades, seemingly finished with hitting him. “Almost two weeks it’s been, huh…?”

 Who knew what was racing through Oikawa’s mind in that instant, and why, Akaashi was half certain he didn’t want to know. “Just what’re you getting at?”

“Ohh, I don’t know…” The remark commenced in a sing-song tone, brown eyes floating skywards whilst Oikawa exhaled in a near daze. “That little owlet of yours has certainly caused a stir since he arrived, no?”

“Bokuto has nothing to do with it.” Akaashi shot that line of thought down brutally, arms folding across his chest to properly convey his absolute disregard for Oikawa’s logic, or lack of. Naturally his attempts fell short, Oikawa refusing to be silenced quite so soon.

“You’ve spent an awful lot of time together in the past week.”

“That’s because we’re back in the show. Bokuto’s a beginner and we have to get him ready.” Aha, Akaashi was already displaying signs of unease, a single finger tapping his upper arm repeatedly. “Since I’m his teacher of sorts it’s my responsibility to make sure he can perform well, Mama has high expectations and-”

“I’ve seen you two at the dinner table, sharing little inside jokes about whatever Mama had you two tasked to do as punishment, which reminds me… you were strangely friendly towards one another that time in the kitchen… The day Hajime and the rest came home.” Yes, now that Oikawa took a moment to properly digest the situation… he was most likely onto something. A shred of insight, albeit small, that could be nurtured into something quite lovely given the right amount of persuasion… I.e. constant harassment and nagging befitting of a good friend Oikawa envisioned himself to be.

 True enough, he had been a useless companion the last two years, what with his bitterness and diva-like tendencies, and yet Oikawa excelled in other aspects...

“Do you like him, Akaashi?”

“What on earth-” Akaashi’s head whipped in Oikawa’s direction with a rare display of disgust, “I’ve told you plenty of times-”

“ _I don’t dislike him._ Right yes whatever,” Oikawa was back to flinging his hands this way and that, one leg gracefully crossing over the other as he made to resume his declaration, “That still means you _like_ him, it’s just a question of how much.”

“Tooru, _please._ I don’t want to talk about this.” Desperate to isolate their conversation from nearby ears Akaashi drew his words to an almost inaudible mutter, “I’m not- I mean I don’t rather…”

 No, Akaashi had very little comprehension as to where he was taking the topic, and quite frankly anywhere would do. Somewhere dark, private and preferably Oikawa-proof so that the man had no method of which to drag the issue back up again… Yes, that would do nicely.

“I’m just kidding!” Caught in a haze Akaashi hardly registered Oikawa slapping his back, the poor soul fear stricken and enraged by the apparent joke he had fallen into. “Well, sort of... Actually no, I’m not in the slightest but still.”

“ _Oikawa_.”

“I’ll drop it already!” Suddenly Oikawa’s eyes darted across the hall, doing an obvious double take before a soft whistle sounded between his lips. “I have no choice after all...”

“Good.” Akaashi carefully leant backwards to lay against the stage, legs swinging back and forth off the edge. It was time to enter a state of pure ignorance; dismiss the noise from close by, the very idea of having to work, and most of all… a peculiar, devilish smirk Oikawa had strewn across his features, his eyes practically twinkling in delight.

“Consider yourself lucky,” Oikawa whispered, leaning in over his friend amidst a chuckle, “If I didn’t have Iwaizumi, I might just be tempted to take a shot at that myself.”

“That’s nice.”

 Truly, Akaashi’s patience was at an end. There were whines and protests before Oikawa found himself retaliating, nudging and poking the irritable sod in the side of his torso.

“At least take a _look_! I swear you’re so useless Keiji!”

“Go away already, don’t you have practice to be getting on with?!”

“Well yeah, so do we.”

 When the final answer failed to come from Oikawa’s lips Akaashi paled, the other man shuffling to one side so that he could prop himself up with his elbows and greet their new arrival.

“ _Oh shi-_ ”

This was not good.

 

 “I know, I know. It looks weird. I was too lazy to style it this morning so it’ll have to do.”

 There he was, the annoying owlet in question standing before the duo, a hand ruffling soft dual coloured tresses. Even without wax his hair was wild, flicking out this way and that at the ends, though naturally the parting sat upon the right side of his head, the majority of his hair falling across in a nice sweeping motion. It was rough, perhaps befitting of the owner, Akaashi mused internally, but… it was good. Very good.

 So good in fact Akaashi wanted nothing more than to steal every pot of wax the man owned and shove it in the same secret place he planned to discard Oikawa’s mad accusations of love.

 _Like._ Akaashi corrected himself yet again.

“So, um… Practice?” Bokuto coughed loudly to clear his throat, weight shifting from foot to foot all the while Akaashi was lost in some stupor, jaw agape and evidently incapable of processing a response.

 Very well… if Akaashi refused to talk, it was only fair someone else fill in the awkward silence.

“Have you heard the news?” Oikawa initiated, smiling to an oblivious Bokuto and lapping up the sudden spectrum of emotions Akaashi displayed.

“No, something happened?”

“Akaashi’s decided to have a party for his birthday-”

“ _Tooru!”_ It was too little too late, Akaashi dreaded when Bokuto’s eyes grew wider than ever, his face practically beaming with enthusiasm.

“That’s great! Looks like you took my advice after all, huh?” Bokuto settled with a hearty laugh, climbing up onto the stage whilst Akaashi caught Oikawa in a death glare.

“ _Ohhh…_ ”

Finally, every detail was coming together, and Oikawa _loved_ it.

“So _Bokuto_ suggested the party…? How nice.”

“Tooru if you don’t be quiet soon I will-”

“My work here is done.” Oikawa hopped down with a wink and a slap to Akaashi’s upper thigh before he had time to argue. “I’m gonna try and sweet talk the elusive bear wrestler into letting me speak with his man… I’ll see you later!”

 On cue Bokuto’s brows furrowed, not only due to Oikawa’s downright bizarre behaviour, but that of Akaashi’s hesitation too. Green eyes found themselves all too frequently flickering in the direction of Bokuto’s hair, then to other places of keen interest… his collarbone for example, protruding from the neckline of his open shirt. Akaashi considered it far too bronzed and exposed in that moment, struggling to force down the mass forming within his throat when he swallowed.

“Who’s the bear wrestler?”

“Ignore him, he’s being silly.” Akaashi just about discovered the use of his legs, clambering up onto his feet to join Bokuto in the centre of the stage. “Anyway, as far your hair is concerned, you should have it that way more often. Too much wax is dangerous after all.”

“That’s a lie. I’ve been styling it up for years.” Really, Bokuto wondered who Akaashi was trying to trick. Contrary to popular belief, he wasn’t a _total_ idiot.

“It’s true. Damages the brain, or something, I’m sure I saw an article about it in the paper once.” Akaashi sought to fight the familiar prickling heat in his face, fingers fumbling as per habit. “Now come on, up. You need to get started on practice or we’ll never make the show.”

 Bokuto wasn’t quite ready to comply, head tilted and observing Akaashi with some fascination. “Surely we should warn Washio then? I mean, if it really _is_ so dangerous then he’s in about as much trouble, constantly putting wax in his ha-”

“ _Up._ ” Akaashi’s index finger jabbed at the silks, Bokuto quaking with laughter as he latched a hand onto the fabric eventually, snorting in amusement.

“… Cute.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m going, I’m going.” At last Bokuto saw fit to hoist himself up, wrapping lengths of the silk about his foot each time as leverage. With enough practice and devotion he had become quite capable at this, and many other apparatus, easily bringing himself up the lengths of fabric and stopping not too far from where they were installed high above. “I should leave my hair down more often.”

 Thankfully he had mumbled a tad, sufficiently far away from the ground that Akaashi was deaf to his words, only able to detect the movement of his mouth and a faint low chortle that accompanied his thoughts.

“ _Did you say something?!”_

“I said the view’s nice!”

“Idiot…” Akaashi’s head turned side to side, unable to supress a fond smile.

 

 

“Are you awake in there…?”

 It could be argued that there are many downsides to living on the seventh floor. The very fact that there are seven floors in the first place is but one of them, and without a shadow of a doubt the most insignificant at present. The buildings of the Roost were beautiful, sure, nobody could fault that much, but they were flawed like no other come winter time.

 Insulation was practically, if not totally, non-existent. Any heat the Owls managed to create and contain within their dorm soon found its merry way out of a crack in the floorboards, or a draft prone window. To make matters worse the building had a horrible tendency to quake when the winds picked up ample speed, grasping the roof tiles and twisting with such might that the glass panels rattled, and floorboards creaked and near on screamed late at night, manifesting a particularly horrid atmosphere of which to sleep in.

 Needless to say it wasn’t much of an improvement come day time, a reality Washio was currently experiencing in the middle of the hallway, knocking for the fifth time in succession on the door to Komi’s old room-turned-studio.

No answer came, as expected.

 Whilst it pained him at times to be so reliant upon Onaga, Washio couldn’t help but wish the man was about right now. Surely he would be willing to aid their mission, and indisputably succeed in it too, but alas he had followed the others to the Dome, where he was likely enjoying some warmth and good company.

 Along that line of wishful thinking he shuddered hard, for a fairly nasty chill had swept up the back of his shirt, tracing the length of his spine to settle somewhere between his shoulders. It’s not that Washio hated the cold, oh no, but a man had limits.

 

 For anyone concerned, Konoha wasn’t an option on this occasion. Or rather, he had outright scribbled his name from the mental list of participants with firm reasoning that he could not and should not be forced to leave the comfort of his (Washio’s) bed in case he became severely ill. Unconvinced, Washio correctly presumed he simply wasn’t in the mood to deal with a certain individual just beyond the door.

“Alright, I’m coming in…”

 First things first, he took the newspaper in his right hand and tucked it under his arm whilst he made to grab the door handle, giving it a firm twist upon contact. The damp and chill of the early winter days had already begun to warp the wood, and so the door required a hefty shove before it gave way, allowing the man to step inside. Pointless to say, upon entering he wasn’t all too surprised by the sights that greeted him…

 

 Despite its new purpose, the room was laid out with the same fixtures as all the other bedrooms, (in short, they couldn’t be bothered to get rid of the furniture), and from Washio’s vague understanding the bed was shoved to one corner so that there was apt space of which to work in. At least, there would have been were it not for the abundance of rubbish and suspicious objects otherwise cluttering the studio.

 A crunch underfoot alerted him to the presence of burnt shrapnel scattered across the floor. Curiously they then led to a circular formation in the very centre of the room largely consisting of powder, chalk symbols and further metallic substances which sent a weird tang up his nostrils when he inhaled. He supposed it went without saying Sarukui had kept himself occupied, if the accompanying sketches and work notes were anything to go by, but as for what he was trying to make in the first place… That was potentially best left unexplained.

 Dismissing those ideas with a shake of his head Washio peered about the space, a soft snoring to one corner pinpointing the precise location of the bed, tucked behind various crates piled high, reminiscent of forts and castles walls built by children during feats of imaginative playtime. On the other hand, Washio firmly recalled, this was a grown man turned hermit for more than a week, thus it would not do to sympathise and associate his erratic mannerisms with sweet childhood memories.

 “Oi, time to get up.”

 There was no need to show tact, or so Washio believed when he promptly rolled the newspaper and proceeded to tap it against Sarukui’s head upon locating it somewhere amidst the bed sheets. He liked to believe they were at a point in their friendship that such behaviour was permitted, normal even, and so he hit a few times harder for good measure, smirking when at last a grumbled protest sounded.

“Prick.”

“No, it’s Washio. Good guess though.”

“Ugh…” Sarukui didn’t much approve of being woken up, especially by people decidedly wittier than he first thing in the morning. “So funny, where’d you learn that one?”

“… I think I got that from you, actually.” Washio glanced up in thought, and then brought the newspaper down on Sarukui’s head for one last bit of amusement. Succumbing at last Sarukui gathered the will to roll over onto his back, blinking wearily whilst he adjusted to the light.

“Oh, I left the curtains open.”

“Thank you for that thrilling observation.” Washio droned, lowering to kneel in the narrow floor space available beside the bed. “You have however managed to overlook what appears to be some kind of occult ritual occurring in the middle of the room.”

“That’s work.”

“Who were you planning on sacrificing?”

“Everyone.” A gruff laugh caused the bed sheets to bob up and down, Sarukui shuffling about to get comfortable and extend a hand pointing to the circle in question. “They’re some experiments I’ve been working on for the fire performance lot. They want some new equipment you see, so I’ve been playing about with some gunpowder, oh- and Daichi came and gave me some information the other day on eastern fireworks so I think I’ve got a few possibilities in the-”

“ _Hold it._ ” Washio feared, hated, whole-heartedly wanted to scream at the sudden absurdity of this revelation, eyes narrowing with greater intensity than Sarukui thought imaginable. “You’ve been messing about with _gunpowder_ , of all things, knowing that I sleep just beyond the next wall?!”

“Come now that’s a bit selfish, Bokuto lives on the other side and he hasn’t complained. Then again, he doesn’t know about it…” Caught up in ripples of laughter Sarukui heaved into a sitting position, seemingly dressed in yesterday’s clothes that bore rips, loose threads and tell-tale black smudges of the aforementioned powder. Really, it was a wonder he hadn’t managed to blow up half the Dorms…

“You can’t live like this.” Washio uttered in a great deal of concern. Of course, he would never stop the man from doing his work, but to toy with the most reckless of materials… that was another matter entirely. “If I didn’t know any better I’d say you’ve lost it.”

“Have not, I told you this is all for wo-”

“You’ve got dark circles under your eyes. How much sleep have you had?”

“That’s irrelevant.” Sarukui interrupted, poking his index finger to Washio’s forehead. “I know what you’re thinking, that I’m upset or stressed or whatever, but you’re _wrong_.”

“No I’m not.”

 In hindsight, Washio felt grateful he of all people had been tasked to wake Sarukui up (even if it was largely beyond his decision). Konoha’s patience would have surely met a brutal end somewhere around the topic of the dodgy experiment and sent him storming out of the room faster than he could blink. “Saru… you can be honest with me.”

“I _am._ Washio look,” The same finger previously jabbing his forehead now highlighted Sarukui’s face. “Is this the expression of someone who isn’t coping?”

“No… But from experience that’s the face of an efficient liar.” Caught out, Washio’s response had Sarukui visibly shrinking in seconds, eyes darting sideward to avoid making contact. “Even in our factory days you used that smile to your advantage, convincing people you were alright… and true enough, it’s successful… Only if you don’t know what other signs to look for, that is.” With that said Washio offered a kind smile, gesturing for Sarukui to shuffle along so that he could perch on the side of the bed. “No one expects you to feel good all the time, you know. In fact I’d be more concerned if you weren’t affected by recent events, the meeting namely.”

 For a moment no answer came, Sarukui’s eyes trained upon a spot on the bed sheets just ahead as if somewhere, knotted in the weave of the fabric he would find a viable solution to his qualms. “I don’t know what to do about it though.”

“About what?”

“When I came out of that meeting I didn’t feel half bad, but I put it down to the thrill of shutting up those confident idiots...” To Washio’s relief Sarukui coupled the admission with a genuine, albeit fleeting smile. “The next day however my mood was all over the place, and the one after that the nightmares started coming back and-”

“Don’t tell me…” Washio grew anxious of the approaching facts, a hand rubbing and pulling at the skin of his own face with a weary groan. “Is that why you and Komi have been sleeping in separate rooms?”

“I hurt him by accident… Can’t control what my body does when I’m asleep after all.” An absence of breath forced Sarukui to pause, the much needed intake of air raw and harsh when it travelled down his throat. “Thankfully he’s not mad but-”

Washio predicted as much, a single arm yanking the other down into a hug of sorts to silence him. “Then stop hiding away and tell us what’s on your mind. What’s gotten you so-?”

“Your chest is surprisingly soft.”

 At that precise moment in time Sarukui found himself far too preoccupied in having his head squashed and tucked at such an angle that he could properly appreciate Konoha’s attraction to the man. A slight wriggle here and there was enough to get comfy, green eyes lifting to catch a glimpse of Washio’s bewildered stare. “Sorry, sorry. Carry on.”

“Actually, I was in the middle of encouraging _you_ to do the talking.”

“Oh…? Alright, _fine.._.” Sarukui nuzzled a cheek to the pectoral muscle-come-pillow during a grumbled complaint. He half hoped Konoha might chance a quick peek into the room soon, and oh he could only imagine the look on his face if he did… “You’re right, the meeting hasn’t helped all that much. Sent the stress levels up a bit, to say the least.”

“Makes sense, go on.” Washio’s voice proved firm, but encouraging, a hand patting the back of Sarukui’s head softly.

“I’m just- I thought maybe we’d have more time here. It sounds stupid I know, but what if you, Komi and I… what if we have to leave because of all this?” Sarukui leapt to his own defence before Washio could protest, spying the critical glint in his gaze, “I’m not saying we’ll be thrown out! Just raising the possibility something might leave us with no choice but to go, assuming that bastard does come and visit the Roost and-”

 At last, it came to this.

 Rather than make a verbal reply, Washio took the newspaper that had since sat redundant on the bed, setting it in his lap for Sarukui to view. “He can’t... See here-”

“No,” Defiant as ever Sarukui whipped his head away, a scowl twisting his features. “I don’t want to see any more stupid newspaper articl-”

“Just _look…_ please?”

 Alright, Sarukui surrendered inwardly. A brief fraction of a glance was all he would permit the tabloid, and suffice to say it was more than enough. The words themselves held no meaning, or rather, Sarukui had no urge to read them, as for the photograph however...

“ _How did they…?”_  

 This was truly bizarre, and whilst the very sight of the prick in question had his innards coiling tight, Sarukui couldn’t tear himself away. “Stoker hardly showed his face to anyone outside the factory, business policy or some rubbish… so how exactly did the newspaper…?”

“It’s a safety precaution.” Washio took the explanation from there on out, highlighting each paragraph in turn with a single fingertip. “Remember how he went on a rampage in that last article? Saying he wanted companies to think against hiring Easterners?”

“Yeah…” This wasn’t high on Sarukui’s list of desirable conversations, and his reaction didn’t go unnoticed, Washio’s arm looping round to give a reassuring embrace and distract from any harmful thoughts.

“In short, he’s failed.” Washio cracked a fond smile at the sheer look in fascination the other gave when he lifted his head, “The government’s branded him a massive racist, and his picture’s been printed to raise awareness and help businesses like the Roost keep him at a safe distance.”

“Then… that means…”

“Hm?”

“He can’t get us…right?” The hesitation in Sarukui’s voice rung clear, coaxing him to pull away from the hold and shake his head side to side hastily. “I-I don’t know. This doesn’t feel right, it’s far too early-” A hand quickly flipped the newspaper over, hiding the page from sight. “… Thanks for showing me. You can go.”

 Stubborn to no end, Washio silently moaned. “Aren’t you pleased? This is brilliant news.”

“It’s a lot to take in.” Came the blunt retort, Sarukui strangely desperate to have his company leave. “Now go on, I’m sure Konoha’s waiting for you.”

 “No.”

 To walk out in the middle of such a significant announcement… why, it was insane. Or so Washio led himself to believe, anyhow. “Don’t you want to talk about this? It’s perfectly fine, I was thrown off too at first, as was Komi; neither of us knew how to react-”

“Washio, please. I know you mean well but I need a moment alone-”

“Saru, _we’re safe_!” Strong hands latched onto his upper arms, Washio determined to maintain his attention. “That man isn’t coming after us, never can, never will. Don’t you understand?”

“ _Of course I do!”_

 How couldn’t he? Sarukui had never wished so strongly to hear as much, but timing was everything. Regrettably however any signs of his refusal translated into deliberate ignorance, one which the other man took completely out of context.

“Then why don’t you-!!”

 _Oh no_ …

 Washio regarded a familiar trembling lower lip with apprehension first, and there… yes, there it went: the drop of the head, Sarukui’s shoulders beginning to shudder, and his breaths, irregular and sharp, initiating the sobs soon to wrack his body.

 “Saru, I’m sorry.”

 For clarity’s sake (and to attest his innocence), Washio had formerly assumed Sarukui was up to his usual denial game, playing oblivious to his problems and hoping that should Washio leave, a literal and metaphorical door would close on the situation and they would speak no more on the matter. Were he to pause and properly assess the mood… well, then he just might have noticed it was more a case of daft masculine pride, and that Sarukui merely wanted to have a massive cry in relief on his own.

“Now I look stupid.” Sarukui choked out after a short while, furiously rubbing his eyes and mustering up all the anger possible (which, for the record, wasn’t a vast amount). Sadly, Washio couldn’t deny him that, casting a sympathetic smile and a firm clap of a hand to his back, anything to quieten the laughter pleading to slip out.

“Come on, don’t start sulking now. There’s no shame in crying.”

“ _I’m a mess!”_ In a fluid motion Sarukui’s head whipped round to send a puffy eyed glare, arms outstretched and feet kicking the covers back to expose his body properly. “I’m covered in filth like some oversized chimney sweep, probably stink like one too!”

“Worse, with all due respect. Nothing a bath can’t fix though.” Washio wrinkled his nose when that familiar metallic stench returned to offend his nostrils once more. All in all he confessed it _was_ good to have the lazy, occasionally snarky Sarukui back, even if a little grubby. “Now then, how about you go clean up and then we think about getting you out of the Dorms, hm?”

“Outside…?” Sarukui remained unsure of the suggestion, evaluating the possible outcomes with such drive that the weeping gradually subsided. A successful exploit indeed, Washio concluded to a wave of reprieve when he was properly side-tracked. “Suppose I could.”

 “That’s settled then.” No sooner did the words leave his mouth Washio was up on his feet, nudging some crates aside with a huff. “Oh, and before I forget, you’re going to clean this room up and take the gunpowder outside. I’m not having explosives on our floor.”

 “Yes father…” A mumble and mock lecture sounded from the bed, Sarukui rolling his eyes, “Can I keep the fireworks though?”

“No you canno- wait… _where are those_?!” Washio’s head turned this way and that in horror, feet carrying him to the door in record speed. Meanwhile Sarukui motioned to boxes surrounding his bed, the grin on his features brimming with childlike pride.  

“You’ve got to be joking…”

 

Tap, tap…

 It started out slow, each clack against the wood rolling out into the air where it would soon drift into nothingness. The first few occurrences were acceptable, reasonable at a stretch, however with every additional beat nerves would be sent askew, heaving and testing the very limits of tolerance until it blatantly became too much.

“Kuroo…” Kenma’s eyes left the paper he was reading to settle upon his partner across the room. They were in the Cat group’s office, the door left ajar so that the noise from the Hall trickled in every now and then, manifesting a sense of energy and inspiration to press on with the latest script.

“Yes?” Kuroo’s hand fumbled with the pencil in its grip, bringing the object to the surface of the desk with another clunk. This would be the final straw, Kenma insisted, slapping the newspaper down against his own workspace.

“I love you, but if you do that one more time I will choke you.”

“Oho, sounds promising.” Kuroo cast his trademark smirk in retaliation, relishing in the sneer he received. “Are we talking sexually or…?”

“Literal choking.” Kenma asserted firmly, “My hands around your neck until the very last breath leaves your mouth, after which I will throw your lifeless body out the window and enjoy the newfound peace and quiet.”

 To that closing, extensive remark Kuroo paled, setting the pencil down soundlessly. “You make a most compelling argument.”

“I’m glad we agree. Now then, how’s the writing coming along?”

“Ah, about that-” When Kenma rose from his seat Kuroo clutched the papers tight, leaning away from the approaching man, “It’s fine! Just go back and- Oh...” His eyes trailed upwards as Kenma seized the newspaper clippings disguised behind the scripts, an eyebrow arching slowly.

“This isn’t what we’re supposed to be working on.” The declaration began with a commanding tone, Kuroo sliding further down his chair whilst Kenma made to lean in close. “Nor are they relevant... Please focus.”

“Perhaps with some gentle encouragement, I might do...” Kuroo grinned sheepishly to an audible tut from his companion. Kenma was all too familiar with this game.

 He set the pieces on the desk first, and then turned to pluck the script from Kuroo’s hands, where it soon joined the pile. “If that’s all it’ll take, I don’t see why not.”

 Their lips met somewhere in the silence, Kenma tilting his head further into the kiss as he climbed up on Kuroo’s lap. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt, he reasoned internally. Anything to pry his lover from those daft articles… They were almost never out of his sight.

 If one were to be completely honest, Kenma had to reckon Kuroo saw those damn newspaper fragments as an extra partner in their relationship: An annoying, literally wordy addition which even had the nerve to get into bed with them of an evening, prompting Kenma to furiously turn off the gas light on many occasions with a muttered goodnight.

 Upon further consideration, perhaps it wasn’t so much desire which had him kissing his lover now, but unease. Ever since the day of the meeting Kuroo’s passion for investigation reignited, namely that of a specific incident: 1898. The very practice seemed moronic in Kenma’s opinion; material-wise all the man had was that of articles written during his previous job, therefore not only was it potentially biased, but brief at that, for his former Boss cared little for the Easterners, nor that of events going on in the capital city, Vol.

“Tetsurou…”

 Lips navigated the stretch of Kenma’s neck, soundlessly urging for his head to roll back and eyelids close partway when they fast approached his collarbone. “… Tetsurou, we need to talk.”

“Now of all times?” The complaint muffled itself in the crook of Kenma’s neck, Kuroo barely masking his disapproval. Rather than permit for a delayed reply hands worked their way up Kenma’s torso, fingers latching onto the buttons of his shirt which punctually came loose, one by one. “If it’s about the script it can wait.”

“I’m worried about you.” Smaller hands cupped Kuroo’s cheeks quite nicely, guiding his head upwards so that their gazes could meet. “You’re becoming obsessed with that case-”

“Not you as well… I’ve had enough of that from Bokuto.”

 “Bokuto’s not wrong.” Kenma bit at his own lower lip, fingers working their way through Kuroo’s hair gently. “Please, I wouldn’t say anything if it wasn’t important, you know that. All I think is that maybe you should… not forget about the case exactly, but at least try to focus on something else once in a while?”

“Ah…” To some reprieve Kuroo’s smile showed face, hands wandering over Kenma’s back lazily. “Sorry, I’ve been ignoring you too much, haven’t I…?”

“That’s not what I meant!” Master of provocation indeed, Kenma established via a glare. “This fixation of yours isn’t healthy.”

“It’s important to me though.” Kuroo showed no sign of backing down, “Kenma… I get that you’re worried, and maybe I am too engaged in past affairs, but the point is I could finally put my skills to use.”

 Goodness, this was becoming too much, too soon. The intelligent writer’s brain was surrounded by a thick skull that not even Kenma appeared capable of breaking through. “You’re doing that already! We appreciate your help much more than you could possibly understand, so why go out of your way to do extra work? Is what you have here at the Roost not enough?!”

“ _Kenma-”_

“Enough, both of you.”

 Trust Yaku to wander in, Kuroo mused with a roll of his eyes. A lack of warmth alerted him to Kenma’s movement, the man leaving his lap to return to his own desk, Yaku stepping about the room in the meantime.

“What’s your opinion on this then? Assuming you heard our conversation?” Kenma’s eyes never left Yaku whilst he walked, taking a few more steps before voicing an answer.

“I see both of your viewpoints-” Yaku raised a hand to interrupt when Kenma’s mouth formed an O, raring to sound an objection, “However I too would be grateful if our newest member could devote more of his time to writing.”

 This felt all too parental; Yaku observed during Kuroo and Kenma’s childish sneers towards one another, still, there was no helping them in such moods…

“That said,” He finally piped up, earning their attention, “1898 is an important topic to this date, so I can understand where Kuroo’s coming from.”

“Thank you!” The man in question threw his hands to air, only to be swiftly shut up via Yaku’s intense stare.

“It’s still poor timing, insensitive even to consider it now. Wait until after Akaashi’s party, then we can talk about it.”

“What difference does that make?!” Kuroo couldn’t find the logic even if it were stamped across his body, however somewhere around then Kenma jumped to his feet, as if his body had been shocked by unforeseen static.

“I think we’ve said enough.”

“Quite right.” Yaku hastily collected himself, offering a polite nod. “Till then Kuroo, no sooner.”

 With that he was gone, the remaining pair caught in a stare-off. In wordless surrender Kuroo exhaled not long after, extending a hand to the pile of papers.

“ _No._ ” Kenma beat him to the chase, snatching the clippings away. “The script, please…?”

“… Alright.”

 Kuroo closed in to plant a kiss on tightly pursed lips, delighting when they softened and moulded to his own under the touch. It was only when they parted that Kenma returned the loving smile, and the excitable buzz of those practicing in the Hall seeped in through the door once more.

  


	12. Oil

_“ROLLING THUNDER!”_

_“Stop!!”_

 With but one definitive word, all those in earshot of the Hall stilled, some of the more daring folk training their eyes upon Sugawara. Amidst a laboured groan his hand pulled and rubbed at the skin of his forehead, testing its elasticity with as much force as those two words hell bent on trying his patience.

“Noya, how many times must I remind you _not_ to yell during your routine?!”

“Lost count. Still it’s kinda good, don’t you think?” Forever carefree, Nishinoya rocked back and forth on his heels when he got up from the floor, sporting a grin vast and bright as his general outlook on life.

Regrettably, Sugawara couldn’t agree on the matter. “Your show is all about fire, shouting ‘thunder’ doesn’t sound right.”

 “I _told_ you that was the problem.” Albeit unhelpful, Tanaka decided to offer his feedback, giving Nishinoya a playful shunt. “Go with ‘fire blast’ or something.”

“That’s stupid! I want thunder!”

 The Thunder Debate, as it became known to the majority of the Roost, was far from new. In fact, ever since Nishinoya entered the building he had proven a mighty handful with a penchant for booming irrelevant commentary mid-performance. Thankfully he had yet to scare away a live audience, but still, the very prospect sent Sugawara’s innards churning like spoilt milk, inspiring him to do his best to resolve the matter as soon as possible.

 For the record, several attempts had already been made to conclude the situation, but all in all, it was fruitless. Unless Nishinoya could somehow be swayed or otherwise figure out a method of which to include electricity within his act, they would forever be at a stalemate.

Indeed, it was time to consult a more reasonable opinion.

“Tora…” Sugawara prompted to the man close by currently removing his shirt, about to begin his warm up schedule, “care to shed some useful insight on the situation?”

 Tora could only scoff in reply, proceeding to roll the garment into a ball until it was snatched away by a displeased Akane. “What use am I gonna’ be? The guy’s stubborn as hell.”

“You’re the leader of this act.”

“Am not.” Tora was quick to object, “bein’ the best at it doesn’t make me a leader.”

 To say Sugawara hadn’t foreseen such a response would by lying, Akane meanwhile expressing her sympathy with a kind smile and a shake of her head. It was good to know someone was on his side at least, and after a considered pause he tried once more.

“Perhaps not in your opinion but still-”

 “ _I’ll do it!_ ” 

“ _No, I will!”_

 Of course, Sugawara inwardly droned when he saw two figures approach, what would the Roost be without frequent interruptions?

“Hinata, Lev, would you mind giving us a moment…?”

 Rather than honour the request, the pair in question took to bouncing about excitedly near a not-so-enthusiastic Tora, who practically growled when Lev slapped his upper arm in an extreme show of determination.

“I’ll become the leader! I’m part of the Cat group too after all!”

“No way! Two out of three fire performers are Crows, which means _I_ get to be leader!” Hinata remarked through inflated cheeks, his little fists clenched and arms tense about his sides, trembling ever so slightly now and then.

“It’s too dangerous, neither of you are trained.” Tora spoke up eventually, his tone calm all the while he was addressing Hinata in particular. It was a habit which tore the boy from his frustrations, his face soon awash with the trademark sunshine smile.

 Lev on other hand appeared miffed at the lack of attention, as per usual, a defiant hand slapping to his chest. “Then train me! I’ll be the best fire- um… dance person you’ve seen!”

“Fire performer.” Tora’s expression bore no joy, no ounce of faith in the other. “And for the record, the only way _you’ll_ ever be in our group is if I set you alight and start throwing you around like a huge stick.”

“It’s tempting.” Tanaka approved of the proposal greatly, head bobbing with a laugh. “He’s the right size.”

“I bet he’d burn for a while too.” Nishinoya elaborated, the three fire performers relishing in the sight of Lev paling at their suggestions. “Really though Tora’s right, s’not safe for you guys to just join in. You’ll need a lotta’ practice.”

“But we’re trained acrobats!” Clearly Lev held no intention of backing down, an index finger jabbing about the air recklessly.

“That’s not enough.”

“Then what about _him?!_ ” When Lev’s finger finally grasped a sense of direction it honed in on Komi, who currently stood in Sugawara’s shadow to survey the group. Upon being targeted he stepped into sight, arms crossed over his chest.

“Look I don’t know why I’m here either, Tora asked me to-”

“He’s perfect.” Nishinoya spoke without a second thought. “The guy has more guts than most people in this place, performing in the air and stuff.”

“Good hair too.” Tora sent a smirk Komi’s way.

“And sense of humour.” Came the next response from Tanaka, each statement an apparent jab in Lev’s self-esteem.

“I can be all of them! Do them, have them, whatever!”

“We want Komi.”

“Just gimme’ a chance!”

 

“Should we get involved? I feel bad for him.” Bokuto piped up between sloppy mouthfuls of food, he and Akaashi sat at one of the nearby tables observing the scene ahead. Fortunately most of the crowd knew nothing of volume control, so they could hear the conversation easily enough.

“He’ll be alright.” Akaashi’s voice was devoid of concern, having deemed Komi more than capable of coping on his own.

“Oh come on, that looks so awkward. He doesn’t wanna’ be the- oh wait never mind he’s waving at us, he’s ok.”

“Told you so.” Akaashi concluded, leaning in to take a slice of toast from Bokuto’s plate and munch on it with a pleased hum. Sometime in the past week it had become habit for them to eat together, Bokuto recalled fondly, glancing Akaashi’s way.

 Like most social encounters it proved awkward at first, Akaashi insisting for the most part that he barely ate. Nevertheless Bokuto would overload his plate just in case, and smile when each time, without fail, Akaashi would steal his food.

“I’ll let you off because it’s your birthday.” Bokuto jibed when Akaashi reached in for another slice, a glare wordlessly commanding him to amend his statement. “I’m joking, I’d always let you have some.”

 On cue he shoved the plate towards the middle of the table so that they could both reach it, Akaashi conveying his approval with a simple dip of his head.

“Thank you, by the way.” The words rolled out effortlessly, relaxed even, their eyes meeting momentarily.

“For what, the food?”

“No, the book. You didn’t have to buy me a present.”

“Ehh? It’s fine, really!” A hearty laugh sounded from deep in Bokuto’s stomach, the corners of his mouth tugged upwards into a grin, “I’m glad you like it though. I had to ask Mama where he bought your other books, and I kinda’ got lost on the way but hey, it was worth it in the end, right?”

“I assume so.” Akaashi spoke up, entertained by the imagery his story provoked, “I’ll start reading it tomorrow.”

“You’ll like it, I promise!” Bokuto pressed on, “I know you said you weren’t all that interested in love and stuff so I asked the shop owner and he recommended that book. He said there’s a lot of darker fairy tales in that one, mermaids and death and stuff.”

 The very notion of Bokuto rambling about him to a poor shopkeeper made Akaashi groan internally, and yet he could not fault the man for his efforts.

“Hold on, you spoke with him…?”

“Well yeah, what about it?”

 Once again, Akaashi found himself in awe of the other (not that he would mention it aloud, of course). “I didn’t know you could speak the language.”

“Picked up a good bit from my jobs, haven’t I mentioned it before?” The complement, much like anytime Akaashi offered praise, had Bokuto moving to puff out his chest with pride. “I’m not fluent, and Kuroo says my accent is really, really bad, but I get by with what I know.”

 Akaashi assumed as much, lips tweaking into a smile. “I see.”

 In a brief yet welcome calm neither spoke, Bokuto staring across the Hall to see how Komi was faring. Akaashi’s own gaze however remained upon his companion, noting that he had opted out of using wax in his hair, dual coloured tresses framing his face nicely and highlighting the contrasting bold, golden eyes.  

 Akaashi noticed a great deal about Bokuto as of late, all of which he put down to the fault of Oikawa and his probing accusations from the other day… So what did it matter if he liked the man? Many people in the Roost did. He was kind, somewhat brash and a tad careless with his opinions, true… but then who doesn’t slip up from time to time?

“So um, what do you think?”

“Pardon?” Bokuto’s voice hauled Akaashi into reality within seconds, eyebrows raised and eyes wide in bewilderment. “I didn’t catch what you said, sorry.”

 Unable to take offense at Akaashi’s endearing display, Bokuto flashed a considerate, toothy smile before commencing his explanation. “I was asking whether you think Saru will show up today. Despite the good news of that factory bastard’s plan falling through, he’s still kept himself shut away in the Dorms. Well, except for last night when he took a walk, but that doesn’t count. Point is he’s refusing to show his face to the rest of the family.”

“It’s only been two days since the newspaper article.” Akaashi uttered, wisely deciding to keep their conversation to a hush all the while Komi was about. “Give him time, he’ll come down when he’s ready.”

 A thoughtful hum tumbled out through the hush like smoke, Bokuto’s head gradually bowing up and down. “Then again, even when he leaves the Dorms he’s in the Dome somewhere. Does he have any friends outside of the Owls?”

“Don’t phrase it like that! Of course he-! _Oh…_ yes, that’s right you wouldn’t know-”

“Wouldn’t know what?”

“ _Keiji!_ ”

 Akaashi’s lips parted in an O shape to speak, only to have the words torn from his throat when he spied an approaching Oikawa, his arm swinging back and forth in an excitable wave. “We’ll discuss it later.”

 

 In his enthusiasm Oikawa wasted no time in lunging towards Akaashi and embracing him tight, the latter of the two very nearly toppling from his seat in the process. “Happy birthday!”

“Thanks Tooru.” Akaashi replied, one hand clinging to the table edge with a vice-like grip whilst he made to return the hug with his free arm. “Where’ve you been?”

“Kitchen.”

 As if having received a silent invitation to join them Oikawa released his hold and fetched a chair, helping himself to some of Bokuto’s food once he was settled. “Iwaizumi kicked me out for getting a bit hands on, so to speak. Not appropriate in the workplace apparently.” Towards the end of his comment Oikawa huffed, lips forming a definite pout.

 “I still can’t believe he’s not a performer.” Bokuto’s comment came in earnest, Oikawa respecting as much with a shrug of his shoulders.

“I’ve argued the same, but… it’s complicated.”

“Things always are in this place.”

 Oikawa couldn’t deny that, fists clenched and thumbs pressed together in a nervous habit not too unlike of Akaashi’s own hand gestures. “It must seem weird… I’m the only member of the Plants group who actually takes part in the shows.”

 Bokuto didn’t follow, his head turning to give Oikawa his full attention. “But what about all those girls? The day Kuroo and I got here Sugawara mentioned you worked with them on dance and floor routines, that you were the star of the group or something.”

“It really is complicated.” Akaashi assured the fellow owl, Oikawa seemingly grateful for his interjection. “The girls of the Roost aren’t assigned to a particular group, per se. There are some exceptions of course: Akane, Alisa and Saeko, who each have a brother here and therefore associate with their sibling’s respective group.”

“Oh… so none of those dancers were a part of the Plants?”

 Akaashi shook his head softly, curls of hair bobbing in time to his movements. “No, the girls are all able to mix with various parts of the family.  There are some who choose to work with particular groups however, for example in our case we have Yukie and Kaori, who help Konoha on costumes.”

“Gotcha’!” Bokuto confirmed, Oikawa sending a small, almost charming smile his way.

 

 A good week or so ago Bokuto would have been gravely concerned by such a display, and yet for better or worse the meeting had shaken up poor Oikawa, urging him to rethink his bitter mannerisms towards the newest Owls addition. Wherever Akaashi went, Bokuto followed after all, and so it seemed natural to accept the man and save further awkward conversations and petty arguments.

“I would love it if the others could join me sometime.” Oikawa mentioned during an airy breath, his words affected by a sense of… not guilt, but regret, certainly. “Still, I can’t put them at risk.”

 Something about the topic sent Bokuto’s nerve awry and forced him to swallow a lump in his throat. It wouldn’t do to upset Oikawa further, and so he made a mental note to lighten the mood. “Well they seem pretty happy, even if Iwaizumi does yell a lot in the kitchen. Speaking of which how did you guys end up together?”

“Bokuto-” Akaashi readied a lecture on Bokuto’s lack of tact, the man cutting him short with a reassuring glance.

“What I mean is that he’s always so focused on his work, and you’re often practicing… what time did you have to even get talking, let alone start a relationship?”

 Oikawa remained still for a moment, one leg crossing over the other whilst a hand ruffled the back of his hair. “You’re surprisingly observant.”

“I told you so.” Akaashi interrupted once more, eyebrows raised at a displeased Oikawa. Throughout a fleeting quiet they exchanged stares, a mute negotiation of sorts between the pair before Oikawa closed his eyes and let his head tilt forward, confident in his actions.

“It’s sort of silly, now that I think about it.”

 Neither of the owls disrupted his admission, Bokuto finishing a final mouthful of his lunch with a heavy gulp. Despite the quality of the food, the motion proved laboured, reflecting the tension stirring up in the small gathering.

“Hajime is a very respectable man. You won’t find anyone in the Roost who’d say otherwise.” Oikawa began with gradual opening eyes, his head rolling back so that he could avert his gaze to the ceiling. “We first met around two years ago, when he saved my life. The idiot is so humble he’d probably argue it was nothing, but… I liked him a lot from the start because of that, because of how he was.”

“Was it in this city?” Bokuto’s inquiry mustered a great deal of sensitivity which didn’t go amiss to his audience, both men thankful for his behaviour.

“Yes,” Oikawa took that as a cue to continue, knuckles pressed tight to one another in a prevailing display of his nervous habit, “I ended up at the Roost not long after. Mama wanted to put me with the Crows but it was no use. They were all too happy, too simple… and I hated that with a passion.”

“They’re fortunate.” Bokuto spoke up, “I’m a little jealous.”

“Right?” Oikawa exclaimed with wide eyes, delighted to hear such a confession. “It’s awful I know, but the thought of being near them made me feel sick, angry, stubborn… more so than I am now, and before long they saw me as a nightmare. None of them wanted to get close to me.” He brushed the confession off with a hollow laugh, “The Plants group were an exception, naturally. Each day I would sneak into the kitchen to see them, and though I scared Hajime half to death the first time he caught me, he wasn’t mad, not entirely anyway. He let me stay, we talked for a few minutes… and that became our daily routine.”

“Cute.”

“Oh I dunno’ about that. I think I wound him up a lot with my attitude.” Oikawa shook with each fond giggle that slipped out from deep in his stomach, “Regardless, somewhere along the lines of it all he found something worth loving in this mess of a man, and here we are.”

“No, it’s seriously cute.” Bokuto insisted amidst a sideward glance to Akaashi. “That’s a good fairy tale right there.”

“Bokuto, honestly…”

“Akaashi mentioned you were the romantic sort.” Oikawa probed, earning a small glare from his friend. Fortunately Bokuto’s constant curiosity reigned, and when he shifted about to lean in close he grabbed their attention yet again.

“I meant to ask earlier, but why’re you lot called Plants? I mean it doesn’t really fit in with the other group names…”

 Akaashi’s thankfulness rung clear when Oikawa seemed anything but insulted, instead humming in a near-on mocking, delighted tone. “Thought you might ask… That was largely my doing. When I joined their group it didn’t have a name, nor did it require one and-”

 A muffled bang and flurry of curse words from the kitchen hauled Oikawa from that line of thought, he amongst several others in the Hall bubbling into entertained laughter. Iwaizumi’s words came fast and incoherent from behind the door, but it hardly took a genius to understand he was angry. His words accompanied the clatter of pans and thumping footsteps until the chaos dwindled like a dying flame, rapid and absolute, at which point everyone returned to their lively chatter as if nothing had ever happened.

 

“Right, as I was saying.” Oikawa’s grin dripped in pride, “The name is symbolic. Originally I wanted Flowers but then Hajime said no and that made me a bit sulky but-”

“What does it represent?” Bokuto aimed to cut the rambling short, a decision met with an approving smile from Akaashi. Friend or not, anything to spare them from his rants proved most welcome.

“Oh yes, well it’s to do with their old job. They used to be coal miners, you see.”

“Ugh…” A mere utter of those words had Bokuto withdrawing with a grimace. Factory jobs were one thing, mining another game entirely as far as work conditions went. “ _All_ of them did that?”

Oikawa’s head bowed to confirm his thoughts. “That was about five, maybe six years ago, when they arrived in this nation. Their story isn’t too unlike some people in your own group, to be honest.” On cue his attention drifted to where Komi stood, the poor soul still caught up in the fire performer’s debate. “They endured it for a while, work is work after all, but then the accidents happened and-… I don’t need to elaborate, but Hajime knew it was time to go and _oh,_ I wish I could have seen it! From what the others say it was incredible…”

“What happened? Did they just up and leave?” Bokuto chipped in.

“In short, yes. Hajime gathered who he could and they walked out. Bet the bosses never saw that coming.” The pleasant atmosphere waned when Oikawa pressed on, eyes narrowing partway, “The name is a nice reference to their exit, surfacing from the depths of the ground like that... but the work has met with consequences. Namely health related.”

“Understandable.”

“Mm,” Oikawa was beginning to lose count just how many times he’d actually agreed with Bokuto that afternoon. “Kindaichi, Watari and Kunimi used to work quite far down in the mines because of their build, height didn’t bother the bosses provided you could crawl, it seems... As a result they picked up some of the worst issues, breathing problems and such.”

 The image was piecing itself together vividly, Bokuto looking to Akaashi and discovering, to some surprise, how he too wore an expression of shock. Perhaps this was the first time hearing as much himself…?

 For the time being Oikawa noted their responses, arms folding over his chest. “Their health has improved since being here, of course, but Mama and Papa insist they take it easy just in case. Oh but that’s not all!”

 Quite frankly both owls had heard enough tragedy for one afternoon, about to halt his words until a reassuring smile showed face. “Some of our group’s names are related to nature, and Makki and Mattsun’s families are experts in medical care, mainly herbal remedies, so to call us the Plants makes sense!”

“… It actually does.” Bokuto confessed, Akaashi sounding a supporting hum. The considerably light-hearted turn of events kept Oikawa’s spirits raised, one eye closing in a cheeky wink.

“If you ever feel ill, or sore for whatever reason, go to them. They’re trained in massage too and well, they’re good with their hands, put it that way.”

“Tooru.” Oikawa’s lack of restraint enticed Akaashi to reel his eyes back, his dismay rewarded with a chuckle and a hand whacking his upper arm. “I think you’ve said enough.”

“It’s true though! Anyway just be careful you don’t get on their bad side, they once slipped something into Hajime’s breakfast as a revenge for his yelling and he spent the day hallucinating about chasing after a white rabbit.”

“That sounds like something a certain two would do to Kono- oh, look!” Caught in his excitement Bokuto hit Akaashi’s other arm, the motion mirroring Oikawa’s from only seconds ago. Frantically he signalled to the fire performance group where Konoha, Washio, Onaga and Sarukui now stood. “He really did show up!”

“Told you so, _again._ ” Akaashi swatted the offending hand aside, about to shake his head in Oikawa’s direction when he spotted the man leaving his seat, brows knotted tight. “Tooru?”

“I’m gonna’ go to the kitchen.” Oikawa’s face bore no sign of apprehension, in fact he appeared determined above all else. “I just remembered something.”

“… Alright?”

 

“ _Hey!!”_

 The Roost could only be silenced for so long, and likewise an empty seat remain vacant, Konoha swiftly making his way to Bokuto and Akaashi and occupying Oikawa’s previous space. “Thought we’d find you two here. Been keeping an eye on Komi?”

“Yeah, poor guy can’t seem to get away from that lot.” Bokuto’s shoulders gave a weighty shrug, the trio observing the gathering ahead in unison. “How’s Saru?”

“Good, actually.” Astonishment tugged at Konoha’s voice, his eyes unusually wide when he spoke. “His sleep pattern is all over the place, but when we said we were heading down here he leapt at the chance to join us.”

“None of us have a right to comment on sleep patterns.” Washio wisely informed via a clearing of his throat, clapping a firm hand upon Bokuto’s shoulder whilst he and Onaga joined their table. It went without saying the man made a brilliant point, and rather than pursue the topic further/render himself a massive hypocrite, Konoha’s focus shifted towards the kitchen, then back to Bokuto and Akaashi.

“What did Oikawa want?”

“Just a talk, wished me happy birthday.” Akaashi displayed no trace of attempting to deceive, prompting Konoha and the rest of the new arrivals to relax. On the other hand Bokuto was back to bouncing in his seat, the food from earlier clearly fuelling his movements.

“Yeah, we learnt a lot about the Plants group too! Where they came from before joining the Roost, something about medicine and herbs, oh and a white rabbit- but I didn’t really get that bit.” His words, blurted to the edge of incoherent rolled out into the air, his energy met with a wave of smiles from the other owls. Albeit vague, Konoha in particular grasped an understanding of his statement, the corners of his lips tweaking upwards.

“Ah, he must’ve meant those two… Say, do you remember the ointment we used for your back?”

“What about it?”

“That was made by the Plants group, and they also helped me when we were sorting out Saru’s wounds. Honestly if you’re interested in traditional medicine they’re worth going to. Otherwise-” In sudden recollection Konoha’s face twisted into a weary scowl, forming a tormented expression which remained illegible to all but Washio.

“Otherwise…?”

“Nothing, nothing. I just recalled something.” Apparently nobody was keen on finishing their conversations today, Bokuto recognised via a heavy exhale. Why did they always stop before getting to the good part…?

 No matter, he would hopefully find out in good time. For now, he reasoned, it was much more beneficial to gaze over to Sarukui and Komi, the pair joking about and successfully quietening the ridiculous, trivial arguments happening amidst the group there. At long last Lev had given up his protests, stomping to the rabble of Crows and Cats across the other end of the Hall with a giddy Hinata in tow. All that remained was an increasingly tired Sugawara and the three persistent fire performers, each with their own extensive argument as to why Komi should join them in their act.

 

“Not unless he’s comfortable taking part.” Sarukui repeated for what felt like the hundredth time, crossing his arms whilst he looked down at each individual in turn. “Anyway have you even figured out what your routine is?”

“Well…”

“We’re stuck on the Thunder Debate. I don’t suppose you can help us at all…?” Sugawara interceded adrift a sigh. Contrary to his desires Sarukui deadpanned at the very idea, ready to voice his disapproval.

“I’m not playing around with electrics just yet, I still gotta’ deal with the gunp- you know what. Not to mention I currently have to make equipment for _two_ groups, as if I didn’t have enough to do before.”

 A valid answer, Sugawara accepted reluctantly. “Then we have no choice but to amend the script. I’ll speak with Ennoshita and Yaku later, meanwhile Noya you’ll have to learn to stop saying it.”

“ _Nooo!”_

“I need a nap.” Already bored with the discussion Komi’s head flew this way and that, searching for a suitable sleeping spot. “Or food.”

“Food first, then nap?” Sarukui proposed, neither owl paying much attention to the mob surrounding them. There was little need to ponder the concept, Komi beaming in response and shaking his head up and down eagerly.

“Sounds go- _ah!!_ ”

 Thoroughly caught off-guard, the remainder of Komi’s reply was tossed to the wind when he managed to grow several inches in the space of seconds, Sarukui’s head snapping upwards to maintain eye contact. Despite the theories of otherworldly miracles floating about his mind, Sarukui recognised the culprit of the phenomenon to be none other than a grinning Hanamaki who had scooped Komi up in both arms, battling to keep the smaller figure still in his grip. “Look, I caught an owl!”

“ _Put me down!_ ”

 

“Brilliant, they’ve reunited.” Konoha droned, gesturing to Komi when Bokuto shot him a questioning glance. “See, that’s what I was getting at.”

“Huh…? Wait, aren’t those the Plants guys we met in the kitchen the other week?”

“Yes,” Akaashi took the queue to speak up, noting Konoha’s exhausted appearance. To their amusement Sarukui never flinched, waiting with the utmost of patience as arms latched around his torso, Matsukawa turning him on the spot so they came face to face. Truthfully, Bokuto wasn’t entirely sure what to make of the supposed friendship, his brows arching more than anyone thought humanly possible.

“Are they really that bad?”

“Imagine Saru and Komi at their absolute worst,” Konoha started, “Then double it.”

“Triple it.” Washio grumbled, his opinion successfully ridding the crowd of their remaining faith that maybe… just maybe, Konoha was exaggerating.

“ _Oh no…”_

 

“Yamato.” Matsukawa’s voice was gruff, devoid of emotion and complimenting his similarly unmotivated gaze. Minus the obvious exception of Sarukui’s permanent smile his mannerisms were returned, maintaining a low, bizarrely stern tone.

“Issei.”

 As per tradition their stand-off-turned-greeting ensued for a good minute or two, Hanamaki eventually lowering Komi to his feet and just about dodging a kick to the back of his knees in retaliation. Steadily the other pair maintained eye contact, Matsukawa’s arms leaving Sarukui’s body so that both hands could lift and latch onto his face. “I’ve missed you, smug bastard. Where the hell’ve you been?”

“Been asked that a lot- ow!” Sarukui’s reply became distorted when Matsukawa tugged at his cheeks, causing him to slap at the offending hands. “Doon’t!”

“Can’t help it. They’re so soft-”

“Um, excuse me…?” Apparently still well within earshot and miffed to have been ignored so easily, Sugawara acknowledged the new arrivals with a frown, hands on his hips to emphasise his point. “We’re in the middle of a discussion, so please leave Sarukui and Komi alone. Also aren’t you two supposed to be worki-”

 “Taking a break.” Matsukawa waved a hand dismissively, his free arm tugging Sarukui to his chest. “Now if you don’t mind _I’m_ in the middle of saying hello to my favourite owl.”

“I didn’t realise you played favourites.” Came the response from Komi this time, Hanamaki judging his plant companion with a slow nod and hum.

“Yeah Mattsun, what’s up with that? You gonna’ run off together or something?”

“Might do, you grumpy shit.” The four disregarded Sugawara entirely yet again to have their ‘fight’, forcing the parental figure and the fire performers to trail off in defeat. “We’re gonna’ elope and have kids and it’ll be beautiful.”

“Your child would have the largest eyebrows in history.” Hanamaki jeered, “But then with Saru as a parent there’s half a chance it won’t look downright miserable, so maybe it’ll turn out alright.”

“… Can I remind you both that he’s taken?” Komi jumped in once more, yanking Sarukui back to his side. “If anyone’s running away with him, it’s me.”

“Oho!”

 As anticipated his stubborn attitude met with whistles and mocking cheers, whilst Sarukui fondly smiled. “But we’ve already run away once… shouldn’t we be onto the rest of the eloping business?”

“We’ve got time.” Komi assured his partner, meeting Matsukawa’s stare all the while. “And you two need to get back to that kitchen before Iwaizumi kicks your sorry asses. I’ll even help you get there if you like.”

“Ah… I _do_ like the thought of Komi handling me.” Clearly Hanamaki failed to grasp the notion of shame, Matsukawa likewise contemplating the matter with a sound of approval.

“Agreed. The rougher the better.”

“Oh don’t, you huge tease. I’ll be too distracted to wo-”

_“Will you two get back in here already?!”_

 True to Komi’s words, neither man could mask their annoyance when Iwaizumi’s voice boomed through the Hall, exceptionally disappointed to have the fun cut so soon.

“Ugh… very well, see you later.” Hanamaki sent a wink Sarukui and Komi’s way before following after Matsukawa, delighted when he was rewarded with a middle finger salute.

 

 

“More drinks coming through!”

 “Yes bro!”

 After a few more hours of practice the party was well under way, the Hall filled with the same vibrant liveliness as that of the last celebration held upon Kuroo and Bokuto’s arrival. Tables were arranged about the floor, a long formation to one side of the room laid with an extensive buffet and drinks selection which, with any luck, should see the family all through the night, and unearthly hours thereafter.

 First to leap into action, Bokuto moved aside, allowing Kuroo to enter the group with a large tray of drinks which he set upon the table. Futakuchi followed right behind, getting comfortable at the other end the table where a disgruntled Kenma sat, fingers clutching his cards tight.

“… This isn’t fun.”

 “I have to disagree.” Akaashi spoke up from his place opposite Kenma, taking a sip of his drink when Kuroo placed a cup by his side. His own cards were kept safely out of sight, flat against the wooden surface whilst he awaited his opponent’s decision. “You’re more than welcome to give up, if you prefer.”

“I don’t quit games.” Kenma retorted with a grimace, his face twisted in echo to his displeasure. Not even Kuroo’s presence could lift his mood, the man unmistakably preferring to sulk than accept defeat. In such situations (which for the record were the rarest of rare) Kenma would have considered looking to the Dealer, evaluating whether a) they were cheating, or b) they were appalling at their job. Regrettably the person in question was none other than the sweet faced Shibayama, who sent a wholesome, honest smile back when their eyes met.

“How about we start anew?” He suggested to a flurry of mutterings and nodding of heads conveying approval across the board. With that said and done the cards were tossed back in his direction, the Cats and Owls conversing amongst one another in the meantime.

“I think I’ll join this round.” Onaga chipped in, Akaashi signalling for him to sit by his side once Konoha got up. No sooner had he sat did Bokuto lean round to grab his hand and give it a bold shake, successfully squeezing Akaashi between them both.

“Good man, you played before?”

“A couple of times, Konoha taught me the basics.”

“Alrighty!” Flashing a determined grin Bokuto looked across to Kenma and his fellow Cats, all of which were arranging themselves, some dropping out of the next competition. “Perhaps we should make it a team effort? Cats against Owls.”

“I have no objections.” Eerily calm, Kai made to settle down alongside Kenma, his smile never faltering. “Let’s say if you lose a hand three times, you’re out? Game ends when a team runs out of players.”

“Sure thing.”

 To Kenma’s disgust Kuroo announced his presence with the hideous cracking of his knuckles, smirking hard and raring to participate. “Well if it’s three-against-three, I’d better step in hadn’t I-”

“Actually, I was hoping to play.”

 Dumbfounded, Kuroo could only blink when Akane brushed him away, taking his place at Cats side of the table. One scan across the group convinced him he wasn’t alone in his bewilderment, nor did anybody possess the will to object, Tora bursting into laughter.

“What, you scared of her?!” Adopting all the brotherly pride imaginable, Tora lunged in to give Akane a firm hug, his actions gladly reciprocated. “So you should be. She’s pretty good!”

 Kuroo liked to think he had enough sense to know when to give in; as such he shrugged his shoulders in compliance, making do with shuffling up beside Bokuto. “I don’t get scared easily, I’m afraid.”

“Do too.” Bokuto jeered, jabbing him in the side with an elbow. “Remember in our old town, when we stayed up late drinking and you bumped into that old woman?”

“Bo, that’s irrelevant.”

“Really, now?” Akaashi peered round to lift an eyebrow at Kuroo. “What on earth would a poor elderly woman do to you?”

“I was drunk, she came staggering towards me and I might’ve mistaken her for a walking corpse.”

“ _Tetsurou!”_ Came the rightfully horrified outburst from Kenma, the crowd about the table equally distracted with Kuroo’s story.  Bokuto's support, or lack of, came in the form of a snort whilst he slapped a hand to his friend’s back.

“You ran away from her screaming.”

“Ok, tell my whole life story why don’t you?!”

“It’s tempting.”

“Break it up already.” Futakuchi intervened, shuffling the deck of cards as he took his place at the head of the table, casting a glance in Kenma’s direction. “I’ll deal this time round, save the stroppy kitten here wondering if anyone’s cheating.”

“I never accused anyone of-”

“You had that look in your eyes.”

“He’s right.” Kuroo spoke up, eager to have the attention drawn away from him. “Right then let’s start the game. The rest of us watching or?”

“Watching.” Tora confirmed, giving Akane one more hug for good measure. “I gotta’ save my energy for the arm wrestling later.”

“Argh, I sucked at that last time.” Bokuto confessed during a weighty sigh, “Count me out.”

“You’re not the one who’s going to participate, anyway.” The input came from Konoha, unexpectedly, his arm linked with Washio’s in what appeared to be a bid to stop him from running off. “We’re sending the bigger muscles in this time round.”

“I told you I’m not interest-”

“Shh! You _promised_ you’d enter this time!” Konoha protested, his free hand patting Washio’s upper arm. “Each group _has_ to have a participant, and with you representing the Owls we’re bound to win!”

“Well, I reckon you’ll give Aone a bit of a challenge, to say the least... And now that I think about it, this’ll be your first time taking part, won’t it?” Futakuchi simply stared in awe whilst Washio nodded, Tora meanwhile evaluating the owl with a hardened glare, sizing up the competition.

“Man…” He muttered, arms folding across his chest, “Aone’s tough, Iwaizumi even more so, and now you’re going to try…?” Alas there was little Tora could do to alter his circumstances, bursting into a fiery grin before seizing Washio’s free hand. “Sounds exciting if anythin’! Good luck to you!”

“You too.” Washio adopted his typical polite standing, Konoha all too delighted by the turn of events judging by the smile plastered across his face. When those at the table became distracted by Futakuchi commencing the card game he tilted his head upwards, chuckling softly.

“If you win, I’ll give you a reward of my own.”

“Sounds promising.” A smirk, albeit brief, ghosted over Washio’s features. “Though what if I don’t…?”

 “Well,” Konoha’s voice lowered to a mere whisper, rising on his tip toes to reach Washio’s ear. “I’ll be borrowing some of that rope from Saru and Komi’s room. The rest of which I’ll leave to your imagination.”

 A fair proposal, Washio determined via a careful glance across the Hall. For anyone concerned, the pair in question currently frequented the buffet table, sampling as much food as their stomachs would permit, and all things considered no one saw the need to disturb them, Daichi included when he hovered around the table attempting to gather some food onto his plate.

 Their efforts remained largely uninterrupted for the duration of the next card game, wherein true enough, Akane reigned supreme, successfully claiming victory for the Cats. Whether her skill was down to natural talent, or fostered by brother was another matter entirely… Regardless, a win was a win, and Kenma of all people appeared relieved to beat Akaashi, one way or another.

 

“Um, excuse me…”

 Whether it could be considered another victory was debatable, but in an unlikely instant Sarukui was soon approached by Oikawa, his form hunched to an extent when he spoke, insisting they have a chat elsewhere. Hesitation caused his voice to waver, his utterings of ‘do you mind?’ and frequent excuses hushed when Sarukui reassured him that yes, it would be fine, and no, Komi would not beat the living daylights out of him for sharing the same breathing space for a matter of minutes.

“Is everything alright?” Sarukui cocked his head in question when Oikawa led them to a small table to one corner of the Hall, the two seating themselves down without further instruction.

“Yes, yes, sorry. I just… we need to talk.” Oikawa mustered all the courage possible, teeth biting at his lower lip. “About Akaashi… and you guys, I’m-”

“If you dragged me over here to apologise, forget it.” Sarukui’s tone was firm, unyielding to the point of sending fear through the other man were it not for the sudden, genuine smile that appeared on his face soon after. “I’ve said a lot of bad things to you too, you know?”

“Agreed but-”

“Do you care about Akaashi?”

 Oikawa could have hit the man for such a ridiculous question. “Of course I do! I want nothing more than for him to be happy, to finally stop worrying about the past and-”

“Then we’ve got some common ground.” Sarukui finished, reaching down to produce a bottle from hell knows where, placing it on the table with a muffled clack. “How’s about we start from there, hm? Call it a fresh start or whatever.”

“… Is it really that simple?”

“Only if you want it to be.” The owl rose to grab some clean glasses from a table close by, proceeding to pour them both a drink afterwards. “Look, a lot of shit has happened the past week. I’ve got a lot on my mind which suddenly I’m supposed to drop and act like the world is a better place, all because one man has been publicly shamed.”

 _Oh…_ Oikawa understood that much. “The factory guy, you mean?”

“Yeah, I still got my suspicions, but… for now I’d like to forget about it. Move on with my life.” When the glass became half full he stopped, moving to the next one. “I think we should do the same, for Akaashi’s sake I mean. After all, I can’t imagine it’s been much fun for him, watching us argue constantly.”

 Honestly, if the mess of a meeting wasn’t a sure indication to how wrong Oikawa had been all this time, Sarukui’s words were certainly doing the job. For the umpteenth time that day he was in agreement with a member of the Owls, a notion he’d have probably laughed at had someone proposed it a fortnight ago.

“You’re right.” Came the humble answer, Oikawa eyeing up the bottle in Sarukui’s hand. “In that case I suggested we raise a toast or two to this ‘fresh start’.”

“Right on. Although now that we’re sorta’ friends, we’re not leaving till we finish that bottle, you realise?”

 At that closing statement Oikawa slipped back into his usual confident self, bringing their glasses together with a clink. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

 

“Unbelievable.”

 Rough and commanding, the single word seeped into Komi’s ear, causing his body to tense and teeth to chomp down hard on his food.

“I wondered when you’d show up...”

“We said ‘see you later’, didn’t we?”

 Wordlessly Komi’s gaze rose to meet Matsukawa’s, Hanamaki approaching to stand on the other side of the owl and effectively pen him in. With a jerk of his head Komi signalled to the long bench where the remainder of the Plants sat, lost amidst the sea of Crows and some Cats which had since drifted over. “You two not joining the others?”

“Nah, thought we’d keep you company.” Hanamaki informed, scanning the buffet with an audible ‘tch’ at the distinct lack of desserts on offer. “After all, looks like someone’s stolen your man away.”

 Out of habit Komi’s eyes darted in Oikawa’s direction next, his mannerisms relaxed when he continued to chatter away to Sarukui. Sure enough, they appeared to be enjoying themselves.

“Doesn’t it bother you?” Matsukawa lingered overhead with a mocking tone, an arm finding its way around Komi’s shoulders to tug him in close. “Of course it does, silly me. You were so possessive of him when we spoke earlier, after all.”

“If there’s a point to this conversation, I’d love to hear it.” It took a great deal of willpower alone to stifle a smirk when Komi heard Matsukawa grunt, his grip growing firm as a result.

“Not one to play around, I see... Alright then,” Having composed himself Matsukawa dipped his head low, his voice quietening likewise. “Makki and I have been thinking… I mean us guys; we’ve been friends for a while now, haven’t we?”

“Assuming four years is ‘a while’, sure.”

 Komi’s tongue proved sharp as ever, both men established when they exchanged glances, urging them to step up their game.

“The point is, I feel we’re at a stage where we should, I dunno’, feel free to explore new things in our relationship.”

“Exciting things.” Hanamaki inserted, collecting some food onto a plate at last. The lack of subtlety caused Komi to reel his eyes back in a slow, grinding motion, his elbow shunting Matsukawa aside so that he could grab a drink from the table.

“You’re not having him.”

“ _Haruki-_ ”

“Oh dear, looks like I’m outta’ prawns.” Komi’s undivided attention devoted itself to his empty plate, a weighty, dramatic breath leaving his lips and causing his shoulders to sink. “What a shame…”

“We’ll get you some more.” Matsukawa stressed, tearing the dish from his hands. “Now back to our discussion.”

“My answer’s the same. You’re not having him, at least not anytime soon.”

“Huh?”

“See that bottle there?” Komi gestured to the centre of Sarukui and Oikawa’s table, the latter of which had begun pouring them another round of drinks. “When that’s empty they’ll go and get another. It won’t take long for them to finish it, by which point Saru will be too intoxicated and your chances of getting remotely intimate with him are finished. I’m not having anyone take advantage of him when he’s in such a state, after all.”

 Following a respectful hum Hanamaki nodded slowly, observing the two in the corner. “So what you’re saying is… if we somehow pry him away from there, and stop him before he gets too drunk… _then_ we can-?”

“I’ll be willing to share, yes.” Komi finished the sentence on his behalf, lips finally succumbing and forming a smirk when he did so. “Only if I’m there too, of course.”

“Well sure, did you think we were only after him?” The plants duo burst into laughter, quickly collecting themselves when Oikawa turned in his seat to arch an eyebrow at them in curiosity.

“It’s a deal.” Matsukawa uttered, patting at the spot between Komi’s shoulder blades. “I’ll get those prawns sorted for you, and then we’ll begin.”

“Don’t forget the daikon, you know how he likes it.”

“Yeah, yeah.”

 The requests seemed reasonable enough; Komi thought inwardly, if they wanted to share his partner so badly, they would need to work hard in return. “Oh, and if you two so much as think of slipping anything in our food I’ll beat you stupid the first chance I get, understand?”

“Hey, we’re not _that_ evil.” Hanamaki complained, “Anyway, food first, then we drag Saru from the alcohol. Sounds simple enough.”

“I’ll be waiting right here, so don’t be too long.” The reply came in a sing-song tone, Komi waving them goodbye with a grin wide enough to trail off his face, were it physically possible. Without another word Matsukawa and Hanamaki left, weaving through the crowd on course for the kitchen, Komi watching until the door shut behind them.

 Slowly, steadily, he counted the passing seconds until it seemed right, all manner of mischievous plans running through his mind when he crept over to the corner of the room.

 

 

“Hey, Saru?” Their voices were barely audible above the cheers and music resonating through the Hall, Sarukui beaming up at his partner.

“What’s up? Want to join us?”

“You’re more than welcome to.” Oikawa emphasised, getting up to fetch an empty seat. “I just gotta’ find another glass too, then we can-”

“No need.” Komi halted him with a hand on his wrist, coaxing Oikawa to sit down again. No amount of trying could subdue his smug demeanour, Sarukui tilting his head when he recognised as much.

“You look like you’re plotting something.”

“That’s because I am.” In a childlike bubble of excitement Komi stooped his head near, commanding their attention, “I don’t suppose you guys are up for a bit of fun, hm?”

“No way, I saw you over there with Mattsun and Makki, I don’t want a part of it.” Oikawa rejected the proposal in no time at all. On the flip side Sarukui was all ears upon hearing those names, matching Komi’s devilish smirk and waggling a finger to bring him closer.

“Go on.”

 To consider himself nervous would be an understatement, Oikawa admitted all the while witnessing the two owls. Komi wasn’t keen to divulge his plans however, a hand cupping his mouth so that he could privately mutter an abundance of terrible schemes into his partner’s ear.

“I see…” Sarukui mumbled now and then, eyes half lidded in concentration. Needless to say, there was no denying how or why the four had become such close friends; even so, Oikawa couldn’t shake his rumbling fears, the voices in his head screaming to get out of this corner fast.

 In fact, that wasn’t the worst idea in the world.

“I’m going to see Akaashi.” He blurted in a great deal of haste, feet whisking him to safety before the owls could voice a complaint. It was but a minor setback, Komi encouraged when Sarukui snorted in displeasure.

“He could’ve been useful.”

“There’s always a plan B.” Komi planted a kiss to the other’s cheek to cheer him up. In a fluid movement he seized the bottle from the table thereafter, eyes narrowed when he scanned the room. “Wouldn’t be fun if things went smoothly, anyway.”

“Too true.” The remainder of Sarukui’s drink disappeared down his throat in record speed, coupled with the scraping of his chair and a clack of glass meeting the table top when he eventually stood up. “See you later then?”

“Right.”

 There was no need to quit the party so soon, not whilst the Hall still brimmed with vigour and bustling conversation in anticipation for events to follow. Entertainment had been scarce as of late; a fact Komi understood all too well, and so what better way to resolve the issue than with a little game of his own?


	13. Stone

“Where on _earth_ have you been?”

 Spying familiar tufts of spiked hair surfacing by the stairway, Sarukui uncurled from his position on the balcony floor, careful to remain out of sight as he did so. “I thought you said you’d be a-”

 “There was a complication in the plan.” Komi cut the complaint short, casting a careful glance over the balcony edge to the lively happenings of the Hall below, before ducking beneath the cover of the side wall. In his hands he carried two bowls, one of which he ushered into the waiting grasp of his disgruntled partner when he shuffled close. “It took forever to get rid of Makki and Mattsun, they’ve been wondering where you are.”

 “Well I’ve been right up here the past half an hour waiting for you, as per your orders.” The remnants of his grumbling muffled itself somewhere in the handful of grated daikon Sarukui unceremoniously shoved into his mouth, chewing with a deliberated pace that teetered on the fine line of loveable, or downright sloppy. Komi largely considered it to be the former, of course, smiling fondly when he slunk down the wall beside his companion to feast on a fried prawn with a satisfying crunch.

 In accordance to their expectations, the party only served to become more high-spirited with the passing of time; those down below taking part in various games, dance and more than their fair share of beverages. From the impression of loud cries and pounding fists against wood another round of cards had concluded, Akane the consistent winner till the very end. In the meantime the splendid buffet from earlier had been cleared, replaced with an equally decent spread of desserts which needless to say, caught the attention of the notorious sweet-toothed folk of the Roost.

 “Hey, Yamato?”

“Mm?” Caught unawares by the use of given names (a habit typically reserved for when they were alone in their room), Sarukui coaxed a mouthful of food down with a hefty gulp, giving Komi his undivided attention as his head propped itself against his shoulder.

“Do you know what makes life so interesting?”

“You?” The reply bore no hint of sarcasm, Komi clearing his throat when he felt a heat prickle at his own cheeks.

“N-No, idiot… It’s unpredictable.”

“That too.” Sarukui conceded, plucking some more grated radish from his bowl to chomp on. “Your point being?”

“Well… the thing is, not everything goes as expected, plans for example. You know why they call it a plan?” Komi wouldn’t permit time for a response, leaping to answer his own question. “Because it’s an idea, a possibility, a proposal that may or may not take place depending on the circumstances, which I will stress were entirely out of my contro-”

“Our scheme has messed up, right?” A snort sounded from just above Komi’s head, Sarukui evidently entertained by this revelation. “Pray tell at which point exactly did we stumble?”

“I thought it was fool-proof!” Komi insisted, batting the flat of his palm to Sarukui’s stomach, watching it bob in time with his laughter. “I mean how couldn’t it be? The one guarantee that Makki and Mattsun would lose our bet is to have you too drunk to get involved with anything sexual.”

“Except I’m as sober as anything.” Sarukui appeared disappointed above all else. “All you had to do was go into the kitchen with an empty alcohol bottle, stick some juice inside and then I spend the rest of the night swigging that and pretending to be a rotten drunkard.”

“We ran outta’ juice.” The final issue clicked into place, every bite of the prawns crackling in Komi’s mouth when made to eat another. “At which point I thought ‘hey, what about water?’-”

“ _You did not_.”

“Iwaizumi stopped me in time! Besides, how was I supposed to remember that stuff is unsafe to drink around these parts? I’m not some expert on this city’s hygiene standards!” After much consideration Komi paused, bowing his head slowly, “Although now that I think about it, it does make sense why they never gave us that stuff in the factory…”

“Exactly. There are a lot of risks I will take for our games, but potentially catching all manner of horrible diseases is not one of them.” Sarukui pressed, his free arm looping round Komi’s middle to tug him into an embrace shortly after. “At any rate that does put us in a spot of trouble. It’s not like I’m _that_ good an actor and well- I don’t really wanna’ get myself drunk for the sake of us winning a bet either.”

The concept of giving up came to mind initially, however Komi disregarded it swiftly with a dejected puff of air. “This sucks. I really thought we’d get ‘em this time.”

“There’s always a plan B.” Sarukui quoted from their earlier conversation, prompting the other to grin up at him. “It’s like that saying… ‘To err is human, to forgive, divine’?”

“Where the hell did you learn something like that?”

“Washio, he’s a clever bastard.”

“That he is.” Komi mused, lifting his bowl so that they could share the food. Carefully he shifted about in the process, tucking himself neatly in the curve of Sarukui’s side where he could better appreciate the warmth of his body. “You know… we could always spend the rest of the night up here?”

“Great, but if I spend any longer stuck hiding like this, my neck is gonna’ seize up.”

“Then lie down and you won’t have any problem. Or, you could stop being so tall but since that’s kind of impossible we’ll have to go with the first plan.” Komi set the bowls aside to give a playful shove, toppling him over.

“Oh great, anything but another one of the great Haruki Komi’s plans!” Thankfully the push was sufficient enough that Sarukui could avoid an incoming swipe of an arm, furthermore granting him time to restrain the feisty individual with both hands on his wrists. “I was just joking! Really though, you’ve not got the best reputation for these things.”

“Says the dodgy man who spends his days playing with explosives.” With that said Komi mustered enough strength to force himself closer, stealing a quick kiss. “Now c’mon, a few minutes alone won’t hurt, hm?”

“I suppose not.” The response rang out in a sing-song tone, subdued when their lips met once more.

  

“Honestly, do they think we’re stupid?”

 Washio could only roll his eyes at Konoha’s persistence, the man’s head turned upwards to the first floor balcony where Sarukui and Komi lurked with an expression of disgust. “They offend me.”

“Leave them be, they’re enjoying themselves.” Forever the voice of reason, Washio gestured with a grunt to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, the pair currently stood alongside them examining the desserts selection. “If anyone should be offended it’s these two, they’re the ones being tricked.”

“Oh don’t mind us.” Hanamaki interjected, waving a hand dismissively. “Let them make out, we’ll interrupt when it gets to the good part.”

“As for what happens then, who knows…” Matsukawa smirked, snatching a profiterole up from the table. “Oi, think I can reach them from here?”

“Don’t waste the food.” His partner protested, swiftly snatching the food from his clutches and wedging it into the pocket of his own cheek. “Didn’t make this just for ya’ to throw at people.”

“Oh yeah? Fine. Whilst we’re on the topic I eating, I have no idea why we’re bothering using plates!” Bewildered by the bold statement, the trio close to Matsukawa looked to one another in turn.

“Meaning…?”

“Over there.” Matsukawa’s head jerked to Oikawa close by, who proceeded to run his tongue over Iwaizumi’s cheek and clean up what appeared to be remnants of Akaashi’s birthday cake smudged over the skin. “Look at him go!”

“I give him points for being bold.” Konoha praised, shoulders shrugging in tune to his words. “I don’t think Iwaizumi entirely minds it either, to be honest.”

 As per usual Washio signalled his agreement via a nod and grunt, the sight of Oikawa having reminded him to continue cutting some cake for them, and ironically the birthday boy in question, who simply observed his friend’s behaviour with a shake of his head and a weary smile.

 Were anyone to consider his own thoughts on the matter, Washio would have asserted that everything was good, great even. The Roost appeared happier than what anyone thought imaginable given the events that had taken place not long ago,  and only a fool would have dreamt to ruin the moment after all of that.

“Hey, don’t go thinking with a knife in your hand.” Konoha uttered kindly, a hand placed over the larger one clutching the utensil. “Also, it won’t do to have you so lost what with the competition coming up.”

“When’s it start?”

“Soon. Assuming that lot can get their act together.” One gaze in the direction of the main table informed them both as much, the majority of the Crows chattering and chirping over one another so as to decide upon a worth representative for their group. “I believe the rest of your opponents have been settled upon, however.”

“Don’t say it like that.” Washio put a fraction too much pressure on the knife as he spoke, a hefty clunk sounding when the blade hit the plate beneath the cake. “You make it sound like we’re about to enter a bloodbath.”

“You’d win regardless.”

“There’s no guarantee-”

“Shh.” Defiant, Konoha tapped a slim finger to Washio’s lips, his own features pulling up into a wide smirk. “I have a lot of faith in you, and it’s high time you did the same. Same goes for having fun really.”

“Akinori, you’re sounding a bit rude.”

“I said _shh_.” The tone rang stern, borderline cold when Konoha’s smug demeanour subsided. “How many times must I tell you… you’ve suffered enough, there’s no reason to pursue such a boring, sensible life when you can play around and show people what _you’re_ capable of.”

 Washio didn’t like to think his life was boring, far from it in fact, and in a mere few seconds he conveyed as much when they made eye contact, his partner retreating from the argument with a weighty sigh. “Anyway, you know what I mean… Just, go out there and enjoy yourself, ok? Tora in particular looked excited to challenge you later on; it’s only fair you return his enthusiasm.”

“Right.” No matter how much he longed to be correct, Konoha had made a valid point. A small, yet truthful detail very much deserving of a sweet peck to the top of his head, prompting Konoha to grumble in a mixture of embarrassment, yet appreciation for the rare public display of affection.

 

 To call the very sight of the two owls cute would be an understatement, Bokuto gladly accepted via a heavy outward breath, chin propped in his hands and eyelids drooped. The same went for Komi and Sarukui even, the pair being ushered downstairs by a flustered Daichi who had apparently witnessed their antics not too far from his office door. Oikawa and Iwaizumi had finally finished with their lewd attempts to eat cake, meanwhile just beyond them Kuroo had an arm around Kenma’s middle, holding him close and nuzzling into the top of his hair.

 Perhaps Bokuto was exaggerating, and a fraction bitter, but no matter where he looked there appeared to be a couple rammed down his throat, encouraging a wave of nausea.

“See why I’m not a fan of parties…?”

 The dull, likewise shattered voice proved rather refreshing, Bokuto thought, laughing through his nose when Akaashi came to sit by his side. “It’s not that I hate them, I mean I’m happy for all of the couples here but-”

“Makes you feel lonely.” Akaashi completed the sentence, two clunks and a definite pop of a cork confirming Bokuto’s beliefs that the other was about to wisely drink the remainder of the night away.

“Is that why you used to avoid them?”

 Wordlessly a full glass of some unknown concoction was slid his way, Akaashi offering but a slight bow of his head in reply before he took to filling his own glass. Whatever angle he looked at it, Bokuto couldn’t deny his reasoning was sound, and in all honesty the man half considered retreating from the occasion himself, the pleasantries and threats of make-out sessions proving too much, too soon.

“At least we’re lonely together.” He uttered.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Akaashi started, their eyes meeting momentarily. “If two people are lonely, and they agree on what _makes_ them lonely then… if they happen to be near one another, they shouldn’t _feel_ lonely, correct?”

“You very nearly lost me with that description.” Bokuto confessed, chugging some of the drink down shortly after. “Still you’re right. I’m feeling a lot less lonely than I was five minutes ago.”

“Me too.” The answer became jumbled in the bottom of Akaashi’s glass as he went to take a swig, Bokuto arching an eyebrow in his direction in the meantime.

 Needless to say awkward silences were a key element to their conversations, most of which came about whenever Akaashi halted on his words. It was as if he’d overstepped a line which had no reason to exist in the first place, if anyone were to ask Bokuto’s opinion on the matter.

 Sadly, regardless of his views it wouldn’t do to alert the presence of those nearby, namely the ever-prying Oikawa (or any of their surrounding companions), therefore Bokuto chose to close the gap between them some more, and lower his voice when satisfied. “Do you wanna’ get out of here?”

“Right now?” Akaashi said, his face depicting a curious mixture of intrigue and alarm. Cautiously his eyes flickered to those close by, then back to Bokuto. “I suppose we could. We should let the others know first though, so they don’t wor-”

“ _Alright, listen up everybody!”_

“What crappy timing.” Bokuto grumbled into his glass, eyeing Sugawara and Daichi as they wandered to the buffet table. His attitude was only heightened by the amused ghost-like laughter coming from Akaashi, the pair exchanging similar unimpressed stares.

“Later.” Akaashi mouthed, greeting the remainder of their group who came to settle down at the table.

 From then on a tremor of footsteps and scraping furniture rumbled through the floorboards until all became still, Sugawara’s hardened gaze surveying the crowd before them when the atmosphere dimmed.

 “The hell do they want now…?” Barely audible, Futakuchi’s complaint proved entertaining to those within earshot. Nevertheless, the point in question bore no relevance to anybody besides those who had attended the infamous meeting, a fact proven correct when Yaku in particular cast an unenthusiastic glance in return. The sheer stupidity of the events that night had gotten the best of them both; left them wondering in the haze of a week subsequent just what on earth the Roost stood for, what their supposed ‘parents’ envisioned for the family.

‘Troubling’ didn’t begin to describe their suspicions as of late.

 

“Apologies for interrupting the party, but Daichi and I need to have a few words before anyone becomes too drunk to recall the evening.” Sugawara opened, his observation met with a rousing of mutters. Upon closer inspection his mannerisms were laboured, illustrating weariness they too had likely endured during the days prior. Even the way he addressed the family, his words absent of the typical glee and giddy excitement, conjured apprehension.

 Speculation only rose when Daichi calmly intervened, his partner willing to fall back and have him take charge, albeit for a moment. “We understand that things haven’t been entirely peaceful as of late; however there comes a time when things stop being fun. Sometimes we have to hear things we don’t wish to, likewise we learn new details which may upset us, or cast doubt on our companions. Even so…”

“We need to get serious.” Sugawara pressed on, his tone considerably firmer than Daichi’s. “This month is the busiest by far as shows are concerned, and we will _not_ tolerate any further disruptions caused by disagreements we may share towards one another. We must work together to ensure our hard work does not go to waste, moreover that we secure a roof over our heads by making our performances as successful as possible. If we don’t earn enough funding to support this lifestyle, we shall be forced to close, and most importantly there will be many people without homes…”

“Suga-” Daichi made to speak, his partner’s head shaking softly to halt his words.

 “Just out of interest, who here would like to return to their past occupations?”

 No verbal answer came, as predicted. 

“I think I make my point clear then.” Sugawara confirmed, “From this moment on we expect nothing but devotion so that our plans go ahead smoothly. It will be tough, and the workload tiring, but it is necessary... It’s the least some of you could do, considering what the Roost has done to better your lives…”

 The cutting statement pronounced itself like a slap to the face which rendered the family silent, individuals looking to one another with widened eyes.

“Oh dear.” Daichi piped up swiftly, clasping a hand to Sugawara’s shoulder. “You really killed the party mood there!”

“Goodness, do you think?” In an instant the jovial mother-like figure returned, face beaming as they, alongside many of their spectators burst into a nervous, hearty laughter. “I don’t know what came over me!”

“What a load of shit.” Futakuchi opted to make his disgust known again, grateful when Akaashi passed the bottle of alcohol his way. True enough the extreme flip in Daichi, but notably Sugawara’s personalities proved frightening, and yet very few seemed to acknowledge as much. The abrupt wave of cheerfulness had torn the majority from the depressing conversation a mere seconds ago, as per the ‘parents’ plan, no doubt.

“How silly of us!” Sugawara chimed in between bubbles of laughter, “Well then, now that we’ve gotten that out of the way let’s focus on the good news hm? Starting with some slight changes in the establishment.”

“Right.” Daichi said, looking out to the crowd when they hushed once more. “As much as we all enjoy our meals together, it’s come to our understanding that we’ve relied on a certain group far too long to keep us fed. I’m sure we all came to appreciate them better when we sent them back East for a while.”

“Oh thanks, that’s the _only_ time?” Hanamaki called out, grinning afterwards when the room fell into fits of amusement.

“We’ve always been grateful for the Plants’ work, make no mistake.” Sugawara urged, waiting patiently for Daichi to continue his speech.

“Indeed. Therefore we’ve decided that all groups will cater for themselves from now on. With everyone applying a great deal more time to practice it won’t do to maintain a strict schedule. Not to say that some people kept to the system we did have, of course...” Grinning, Daichi glanced in the direction of the Owls. “Anyway, in short the Plants will be working elsewhere from now on. I’m sure it’ll be a good break for them, and Iwaizumi’s voice.”

“Much obliged.” Iwaizumi toasted to that much amidst more chuckles, taking a gulp of his beer. The declaration brought about some confusion however, more so when Oikawa himself raised an eyebrow to his lover in question. Had he not been informed…?

“Ok, now onto the best news!” Sugawara’s hands came together in a loud clap, a wide smile ever present on his features. “Whilst we’ve asked you all to concentrate on practice, we do promise that things will be easier after the show next week.”

“How so?! You just said we’d be doing _more_ work-!” Nishinoya’s outburst was silenced in a flash, Sugawara shaking his head.

“You will for now. After the upcoming show we’ll be introducing a new act to the Roost!”

 Whispers shook the tension lingering overhead, Sugawara taking the wordless cue to resume.

 “We’ve been approached by a group of contortionists who, like us, come from the East and are very keen to get involved with the family.”

 At that point the volume in the Hall soared, neither Daichi nor Sugawara capable of subduing the eruption of energy.

_“When are they coming?”_

_“How old are they?”_

_“Are there any girls in the group?!”_

“Calm down, calm! We’ll get round to the interrogations soon enough!” The pair simply rolled their eyes with fond smiles, delighted by the overall approval to a new performance group. Of course the questions failed to stop, flooding the room with a rabid ferocity that albeit positive, failed to address one very significant fact.

“Erm… What the hell is a contortionist?”

Trust Bokuto to ask the most important question.

“Stupidly flexible people.” Kuroo leapt to answer his friend first, far too accustomed to his queries. “They can practically fold themselves in two; kiss their own arse if they wanted.”

“It _is_ a respected performance art.” Konoha interjected, not entirely satisfied by that description. “There were some contortionists at the old theatre Onaga and I worked for, and they were incredible.”

“It still looks odd.” Kuroo shot back into the conversation, “I used to know someone who could do that stuff when I was a kid. They’d put their ankles over their head like it was nothin’.”

“Ohh… Hey, Akaashi! You’re pretty flexible!” Bokuto outright declared, causing the man in question to choke on his drink. “Can you do that?!”

 Honestly there was no helping Bokuto at times. Before long the group at their table were busy chattering over one another, Washio resolving Akaashi’s distinct breathing issue with a hefty slap to his back that left several wincing at the smack sound.

“Tatsuki, be gentle!”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” Akaashi reassured though a tad shaky, ensuring to put Washio’s mind at ease with a (vaguely) calm smile and a nod. “Thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“That reminds me,” Iwaizumi’s voice resonated through the cluster, commanding their attention, “We’ve got a competition to be getting on with.”

 

 

_“You can do it!”_

_“Get him!”_

“Well, it looks like this is it.” Calm, focused, Tora’s eye level rose to meet his opponent’s, the glare steeled and determined as his own.

“So it does.”

 Neither spoke for a moment, hands clasped together as they got into position at the table. Even then the pressure hardly went amiss to their audience; lips squeezed shut tight and fists clenched, raring, anxious…

“Aw man this is so hard!” Tora was the first to crack, Tanaka likewise losing composure opposite him. “You’re like a brother to me!”

“Oh for goodness sake, it’s an arm wrestling match! Not a fight to the death!” Yaku plopped himself on the bench beside Tora, giving his upper arm a slap. “You were so fired up before this!”

“Yaku this isn’t easy for me. Tanaka and I are incredibly close.”

“It’s true; it pains me just as much.” Tanaka conveyed through a sigh, face composed in an almost saintly, placid manner whilst he held his free hand to his bare chest. “By day we battle through fire, and now, we are expected to face one another in combat. How horrible.”

“Says the man who has no issue picking fights with half the people in this building…”

“Shut up Tsukishima!”

“It’s only a game; now lighten up, the pair of you!” Sugawara counselled with hands flat against the table as he leant in close. “Need I recall the winner will earn his group a vast amount of alcohol, amongst other luxuries…?”

“The prize is ours.” Kuroo stated boldly, appearing on the other side of Tora. “You’re more than capable of winning, so don’t let a friendship get in the way of what we want most.”

“Only _you_ want the prize that badly, Kuroo.”

“Yaku shh, Tora doesn’t require your pessimism.”

Tora wasn’t entirely sure he needed Kuroo’s weirdness either, all things considered. Irrespectively, winning meant a prize, but it also meant glory… and that attracted people.

 _Attractive_ people.

“Let’s do this.” Within seconds his grip on Tanaka’s hand tightened, both of the men growling and their faces twisting into intimidating forms in a bid to outdo one another.

 “I’ll assume we’re ready to begin soon?” Sugawara eyed the pair up, far too weary of their antics to bother questioning the swift changes of character.

“You know Kiyoko will only have eyes for the winner, right?” Tanaka mocked. “Same goes for the other girls, guys- hell _all_ of the hot people in the Roost will be staring at _me_ when I beat your a-”

“I really hate to interrupt.” Yaku spoke up, doing it anyway. “But most of the girls and the ‘hot people’…? They’re over there. The crowd will be moving over here in a moment.”

“ _Huh?!_ ”

 Right on cue booming cheers and whoops ensued, a hefty thump signalling the end of the match.

 

“Incredible…” Futakuchi’s eyes drifted from Aone to Washio, the former rising from the bench to give a respectful bow.

“Good game.”

“Same to you, you’re very strong.” Washio offered a hand when he stood shortly after, the pair engaging in a firm shake. It was a strangely quiet, dignified affair considering the hype of the event, one which none of their audience saw fit to interrupt.

“Did Aone just get beaten…?” Tora exclaimed, too caught up in the news that he barely noticed the movement of the bustling people now gathering around their own table.

“Looks that way.” Tanaka replied, incapable of ignoring the growth forming in his throat. “Didn’t think there was anyone who could do that. Besides Iwaizumi anyway.”

“I think its best you two concentrate on your own competition.” Yaku suggested, Kenma soundlessly slipping in to pat Tora’s shoulder in reassurance whilst he spoke. “Whoever wins out of you two gets to fight Washio next.”

“Brilliant.” The pair huffed in unison. “And assuming we beat him?”

“Iwaizumi, as the current champion he instantly gets a spot in the finals.”

“Even better…”

 No matter, the event was fair and neither man found the sudden increase in attention all that bad. Even the odd gestures from Fukunaga proved welcome, Tora dismissed with a laugh before Akane came to offer a final hug in support. When she eventually let go Sugawara smiled to both participants, their heads dropping quickly in confirmation.

“Alright… _go!_ ”

 

“Nicely done.” A purr produced itself from Konoha’s throat, rolling each syllable in turn as he draped a towel around Washio’s shoulders. “See I knew you could do it…”

“It was difficult, Aone’s a skilled oppone-” Although grateful for the attention, something about Konoha’s mannerisms had Washio stopping in mid-explanation. The aforementioned towel, presumably intended to help cool him off, was in fact providing a cover for his exposed upper body as his partner pulled it into place, meanwhile sending narrowed, intense stares to anyone who so much as dared to look their way.

“Akinori… what’re you doing?”

“Letting people know how it is.” Came the blunt response, Konoha going so far as to use his own body as a shield of sorts. “Whilst I highly approve of the ‘no shirt’ rule for all participants, I’m not fond of people gawking at you.”

“You didn’t mind at the start.” Washio enlightened via a hum, folding his arms across his chest. “In fact you were very eager to boast about our relationship; or rather… what was it you said?”

“Somethin’ real smug like ‘yeah, this man’s mine’.” Komi interrupted, poking Konoha’s side with an index finger. “Such a possessive person you are.”

“Says you! Need I recall how you are with Sa-”

 

“ _Game over!_ ”

 

“Woah that was quick.” Komi chose to ignore whatever response Konoha had in mind, grinning when Tora came bursting out from the crowd to flip and punch the air with loud cries in victory. Sequentially Konoha whipped the towel from Washio’s body, ushering the irritable man towards the crowd.

“Come on then, we got another fight to win!”

 There was little room to deny the two owls made a good couple: sensible, blatantly adorable yet with a hint of mystery courtesy of Konoha, who continued to display a range of questionable talents all the while refusing to divulge in how exactly he came to learn them in the first place. As far as Washio was concerned… regardless of background he was reliable, no one could doubt that. In fact, if the quietly stalking Aone was anything to go by, he was beginning to gather himself a small group of fans…

 

“So, what now…?”

 Komi’s attention shifted to Matsukawa and Hanamaki, the latter peering down his own shirt. “What do you mean?”

“Well, you’re not needed in the kitchen anymore…” Komi shrugged and sat at the table where they were gathered, Sarukui landing beside him with an incredible lack of grace. “Have you got a new job in the Roost, or…?”

“Boring stuff... Errands, occasional paperwork.” The answer left Matsukawa’s mouth all too fast, seemingly desperate to avoided meeting either owl’s stare. “Nothin’ for you guys to worry about.”

“We’re not worried. Only… now that you’ve phrased it like that, it’s kinda’ hard not to be.”

“Are you joining that new group?”

“Hell no.” Hanamaki shot the suggestion down in record speed. “We’re not that flexible.”

“Well then why don’t you come help us out?” Sarukui proposed, pushing the conversation on, “I could use a hand, to be honest.”

“Depends where you’d like us to put them.” Matsukawa jeered, slipping round to sit beside the unusually disgruntled owl.

“I was being serious for once.”

“As was I.” Following a deep laugh he tugged the grumpy soul into an embrace; Sarukui’s back resting against his chest. “Thanks for the offer, but we can’t join you. Gotta’ stick to our own job.”

“It sounds a bit suspicious, if you ask me.”

“Agreed.” Komi’s focus never faltered as he spoke, the Plants duo visibly shrinking- no… biding their time perhaps, to come up with an answer.

 Hanamaki was the first to reason with him, cracking into a snicker. “There’s nothing suspicious about it at all! You heard Sugawara right? This is our busiest time of year; therefore a lot more help is needed.”

“I don’t believe it.”

“Komi-”

“Think about it.” With that the owl rose to his feet once more, staring at the palm of his hand for a while. “Right now Sugawara and Daichi have the help of… hmm, at least a few of the girls, let’s say five or six of them. On top of that they also have the assistance of the Cats group-”

“Not _all_ of that lot help. It’s just Yaku and Kai for the most part.”

“That takes us to roughly eight people.” Komi resumed, “So why then, this year of all years, do we suddenly require an additional _seven_ people from the Plants group to assist with organisation? Or ‘errands’ as you called it. Don’t they have enough people already?”

 Fortunately for them, any potential onlookers were distracted by the competition, too wrapped up in the excitement to consider the debate happening close by. Be that as it may, it wasn’t worth the risk of being noticed, the four collectively quietening their voices as a result.

“Haruki, look. I get why you’re concerned, but really, there’s nothing weird going on. We genuinely are going to do some small jobs.” Matsukawa mustered a great deal of sincerity to his words all the while he pleaded with the owl, Komi’s expression softening shortly after as he considered the reply.

“Fine… But I don’t want to hear that you’ve gotten yourselves in trouble or something.”

“We won’t.” Hanamaki reached forward to latch onto his wrist, a quick yank bringing the other into his arms for a reassuring hug. “Seriously you two worry so much. You need to learn to care less, like we do.”

“Hey, hey. We _do_ care about some things. Just not everything.” Matsukawa made sure to object, his brows furrowing when Sarukui began to wriggle and grumble in his hold. “And why’re you so fidgety all of a sudden?”

 Sarukui failed to answer at first, twisting his upper body to peer down at Matsukawa’s torso. “Something keeps digging into my back.”

“Ah… that’d be the piercings.”

“Huh?”

“Oh, that’s _right_ … We didn’t show you! When Mattsun and I went away we got some more work done!” With that revelation Hanamaki burst into a new lease of life, delighted by the bewildered expressions they received. Patiently they waited all the while he adjusted his clothing to display the extent of his tattoo sleeves, elaborate trails of smoke and floral themes coiling over each muscle and stopping around the sides of his neck. “The market we needed to get supplies from was close to the town where Mattsun and I grew up, so Hajime let us visit home for a little bit. There’s an amazing woodblock artist-turned-tattooist who lives there now, so he did this for me... It hurt like hell, but it was worth it.”

“Meanwhile I just got my nipples pierced.” Matsukawa delivered the information as if he were giving a formal, bland speech, shrugging his shirt off to display a ring through each nub, the thin hoops connected by a silver chain which he tugged at absent-mindedly. “It’s supposed to be pretty popular here. I think it’s usually women who do it, but there’s no reason why I can’t have it done too.”

“It’s hot.” Hanamaki grinned, “He gets feisty if you pull the chain too hard though.”

“You yanked on it just after I’d had it done!”

 Amidst the incoming childish spat Sarukui and Komi looked to one another briefly before smiling, dare they say it, their friends had a wonderful way of making them feel normal in comparison…

“What did your parents think of it?”

Matsukawa’s face twisted into a sour expression. “It was a mixed response. Can’t expect much from a family of doctors... They’re such practical, professional sorts after all. They did give me some lotion to make sure the piercings didn’t get infected though, so I kinda’ think that’s their way of showing approval.” At that point his smug demeanour returned, a finger still toying with the chain draped across his chest. “Which reminds me, my mother sent her love. Hope’s your injuries are fine.”

“That was four years ago.” By no means was it Sarukui’s intention to insult, Matsukawa acknowledging as much with another shrug of his shoulders.

“I know, I know. Even so, after all this time she’s still fixated with how exactly you managed to survive back then… Forever going on about how dirty the cities are here, listing the horrible infections you could’ve caught… Then there’s the case of blood loss you suffered which all in all, should’ve made you a dead man.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.” Thankfully the memory was laughed off, Sarukui reaching round for his drink. “Well maybe I’ll meet her someday, she might like that.”

“Sure, assuming you’re happy to become the Matsukawa experiment. You’ll never be allowed to leave our house, you realise?”

“Ah, how nice it is to see that such creepy possessiveness continues to run in the family…” Hanamaki sneered, ducking out of the way when Matsukawa aimed to slap the back of his head. “I’d run while you can, Saru.”

“Shut it! It’s not the same!”

“Is too!”

“Just what’re you all up to now…?”

 Iwaizumi’s voice, commanding yet respectful, was barely heard above the roar of the crowd as the next game to an end. Without a sound he gestured to each of the Plants members in turn, noting how they adjusted their clothing under his stern gaze.

“We were just talkin’ about when we went back home.” Hanamaki admitted, Matsukawa nodding in support.

“Yeah, speaking of which do you wanna’ pull my chain?”

“I’ll pass.” Forever calm, Iwaizumi crossed his arms over his chest, wisely opting to ignore their dejected whines. “Anyway, are you joining us for the finals? Looks like I’ll be against Washio.”

“Is that so…?”

 Sure enough there were no words Iwaizumi could find to describe his daily struggles, all of which largely involved those he considered his true family within the Roost. For reasons better left unknown Hanamaki and Matsukawa had abruptly engaged the two owls in a stare off, muttering a cryptic, all too definite “Looks like we’re enemies now.”

“It’s not the end of the world.” He went to insist, Matsukawa raising a hand to hush him.

“This is serious. Our pride is on the line.”

“Well hold onto that whilst you can.” Komi pressed in his closing speech, taking Sarukui’s hand in his own to lead him where the other owls were gathered.

 Whether the comment was aimed at him personally or not… Iwaizumi had no clue, but ignorance was bliss as they say, and quite frankly he felt a better man for not diving head first into their ridiculous antics.

“Getting nervous?” Unfazed, Iwaizumi hummed softly whilst a pair of slender hands travelled the stretch of his shoulder blades, fingertips tracing patterns on the skin.

“Not really. Looking forward to the challenge.” He spoke plainly, truthfully, the initial response he received being the puff air of that tickled the back of his neck when Oikawa laughed.

“How is it you’re always so confident, yet kind at the same time?”

“I think before I speak.”

 “How mean! I take back what I said!” Regardless of the outburst Oikawa took the comment in his stride, softly slapping the bronzed skin of his partner’s shoulder when additional ripples of laughter threatened to escape his lips. “To think even after such harsh words, I’ll still support you…”

“Oh really? Not gonna’ jump to the Owls side?”

“Of course not.” Placing one foot in front of the other Oikawa stepped round gracefully to meet Iwaizumi’s stare, arms draped about his neck and their noses nearly touching when he moved in close. “You’re the strongest man in the Roost, after all. That and I love you, so it’d be a bit unfair to abandon you.”

“Hm, true enough…”

 

 

“Ok never mind. I’m going to leave you.”

“Stop being so dramatic, idiot!”

“ _Never!”_

“Are they still at it…?” Kunimi’s tone rolled out like silk compared to Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s petty rants. His careful, considered mannerisms brilliantly contrasting the red-faced Kindaichi by his side attempting to hide his fits of laughter. “I guess it’ll be quite noisy tonight, and not for the right reasons.”

“Depends which floor you’re on.” Hanamaki paused to scoff when Matsukawa stuck his middle finger up to the owls seated down the far end, Sarukui and Komi all too keen to show off the abundance of goods Washio had won. “At least there’s always next time, right?”

“That’s totally beside the point Makki!” A stroppy, puffy cheeked Oikawa interrupted. “Hajime and I are the most powerful couple in this building!”

“I would’ve given that title to Sugawara and Daichi, all things considered.” Iwaizumi attempted to reason, cut off soon after with an index finger pressed to his lips.

“Ssh, put it this way... You’re supposed to be the strongest man of the Roost, and I your very attractive partner. The combination of strength and beauty should mean that collectively, we’re the best, no?”

“Suga’s pretty hot.” Hanamaki not so helpfully informed.

“That he is.”

“And you’re still good looking.” Iwaizumi argued, pleased when the words had Oikawa turn to mush in his arms. “As for me I’m still the second strongest man of the Roost, that’s an achievement.”

“… This would be much easier to endure if Konoha was ugly.”

“What…?”

Oh, how no one envied Oikawa’s ‘logic’. “But no, curse my luck Washio’s stupidly strong, handsome and has an equally beautiful partner, even if he is a smug bastard.”

“It appears we have a lot more in common than I thought.”

 For anybody concerned, Konoha wasn’t deaf, nor was he miles away from Oikawa. He was in fact situated a mere metre away, a point the tactless Plants member had chosen to absolutely forget somewhere during his ramblings.

“I really enjoyed the competition, didn’t you?”

 Oikawa choked on his words when he made to retaliate, Konoha relishing in his hesitation with a fox-like grin. “Oh how charming, nobody told me it was attack Tooru day!”

“Well shit, no one let me know either.” Matsukawa’s snide remark sounded in the background, a wave of laughter ensuing from the rest of the group who joined him in exclaiming their ‘horror’.

“I didn’t know!”

“Nor me!”

“Right, right, calm it down.” Oikawa eventually cut in, waving the joker of a group off with a hand. “See this is why I spend most of my time with Akaashi, he’s far more decent than any of y- actually, speaking of which where _is_ he?!”

Goodness, the way Konoha’s eyes widened was worth more than whatever Washio just earnt his group, the victor himself mused with a gruff laugh. In a respectable owl-like fashion Konoha’s head turned about, silently questioning the same to the other members of his group, who sadly could only shrug in response.

“Bokuto’s missing too.”

“ _What?!”_

“Calm down.” Washio made sure to jump in before the situation got out of hand, as most cases often did. “They told me they were going outside for a little while. They’ll be alright.”

“ _Oh..._ ”

 No further commentary was needed, suggestive glances being shot across the table between knowing individuals until Konoha cleared his throat, smirk ever-present. “Let’s leave them to it.”

 

 

“I know I’ve said it a lot, but I’m gonna’ say it again. This view is amazing.” With all the intrigue of a child Bokuto stared out across the scene, the balcony space tucked above the Dome where they currently stood proving to be a prime spot to admire the city, and that of the Hall down below. “I can see why you like being up here.”

“Mm.” Akaashi nodded mutely, wandering to stand by Bokuto’s side at the railings. “It’s a nice place to be when you’re feeling stressed, and since no one tends to bother coming up here so you’re guaranteed to be alone.”

 That made sense, Bokuto accepted. “How many times did you come up here when we had our falling out?”

“As many as possible.” Bokuto swore he lost his breath when a distinct laugh came from the other man, the genuine reaction all too valuable, too precious.

“I… I really am sorry for how things started between us-”

 Oh dear, things were becoming emotional.

“Bokuto we don’t need to keep doing this, its fine, honestly. We should forget about all that and move o-”

“I was a huge prick though!” As predicted the near-on wailing ensued, Akaashi using the moment to take a much deserved pensive breath, his lungs filled to the brim before expelling the air with a weighty sigh. In a flash Bokuto was gone, cheek to the ground and fists clenched either side of his head all the while he growled his frustrations away.

“I got so wound up because I’m lonely and desperate and then I met you and I didn’t expect anyone to be so stunning here and oh god for a place that’s supposed to be calm I’m getting really, really stressed! This roof isn’t working Akaashi!”

“Bokuto-”

“Oh but that’s offensive to your area right?!” Bokuto flopped onto his back with an unsightly twist of his body, hands cupping his face. “Shit now I’ve gone and said even more stupid thin-”

“No, you’re alright-”

“Throw me off the roof! I’m no good! Why on earth would you bring me to such a wonderful place?!”

“ _Koutarou!_ ”

 If Akaashi had to bet on it, there was probably no one in the world capable of reasoning with Bokuto through words. Even Kuroo had said so during one of their slight less sarcastic conversations. Back then they discussed Bokuto and Kuroo’s voyage to the Roost, from the dishevelled excuse for an apartment, the dead rat Bokuto practically adopted, and of course, the elusive train journey. At some point during that account, Akaashi vaguely recalled, Kuroo mentioned a technique to gain Bokuto’s attention which largely involved ignoring the poor sod.

 Alas Akaashi was not Kuroo, and thank goodness… if luck was truly on his side he was unlikely to ever become as sly as him, or gain such a fearsome bedhead. In addition Akaashi always held the best intentions, doing what he thought was right. During this precise moment however, when golden eyes flashed a helpless glint, Akaashi very much lost whatever judgement he possessed, lunging forward to crash open lips to his own in a kiss.

 At least it kept Bokuto quiet. Sort of.

“H-Hn…”

“There…” The word ghosted against Bokuto’s lips when Akaashi barely pulled back, a hand gently feeling through his hair. “Feeling better?”

“I-I dunno’...” Genuinely, the poor owl had been rendered stupid. “If I scream will you kiss me again?”

“No I’ll probably throw you off the roof, as you requested.”

“Wow…”

 What on earth were words…?

How did one go about speaking? Hell if Bokuto ever knew.

 His tongue was nothing more than wedge of useless flesh in his mouth, numb and by no means capable of expressing the emotions violently pounding his ribcage to dust. Not that his eyes were much help either, quite frankly, for one glance at Akaashi sent his pulse soaring, palms becoming horribly clammy and _oh_ Bokuto knew he was probably wearing the most stupid expression on his face and-

 Be that as it may, it was the perfect opportunity for Akaashi to lean in and have another go. Consider it a birthday treat, he asserted firmly in his mind, lips tweaking into a smile.

 As far as Bokuto was concerned, there was no better time to grasp some balls (metaphorically speaking), he realised partway through the thrilling understanding that his Roost crush was currently hell bent on kissing him to death, were it possible. And yet it pained him to know it would come to an end, hands carefully feeling their way over Akaashi’s arms until they stilled, nudging him away (just a fraction, mind you) so that they could speak.

“Keiji, I’m… a little overwhelmed right now.” Not in the negative sense of course, and thank goodness Akaashi hadn’t jumped to that terrible conclusion. “I’m sure I’m gonna’ say some very stupid things, so excuse me but um, what does this mean for us…?”

 On cue Akaashi’s gaze drifted elsewhere, the hand in Bokuto’s hair becoming motionless. “I-I don’t know.”

“It feels rather unexpected, if you don’t mind me saying.” Bokuto continued in steady tone. “After all you hated me at the sta-”

“ _I never hated you!”_ At that remark teeth grazed Akaashi’s lower lip in agitation, his eyes narrowed yet wavering. “I was frustrated at first, yes, but I never went so far as to hate you!” As he spoke his pace quickened, breaths following suit to the point that Bokuto sent a comforting smile, gently pulling him down into an embrace.

“Alright, I understand now.”

“But you don’t, that’s the problem.”

“I can try.” Bokuto said, fingers lacing through black tresses when he raised a hand to the back of Akaashi’s head. “Look, I’m really excited so this is all hard for me to take in. I mean it’s pretty much a dream come true and in a way I’m scared to death because I’m stupid enough to ruin the moment in seconds, what with my big mouth… Anyway, I guess what I’m trying to say is if- you know, actually you don’t because I’m just…”

“You’re rambling.” Akaashi spoke fondly into the skin of his neck, willing him to go on.

“Oh, ok yeah. Right! Well what I shoulda’ said first is that I am a massive idiot, and over the past few weeks I’ve learnt that you’re an amazing person, inside and out.”

“That’s pushing it.”

“Is not!” Bokuto lightly tapped his fingers to Akaashi’s head in protest. “I really enjoy your company and so if there’s a chance that we can, you know… take that relationship further, rely on one another. That’d be great. I’d want that.”

 ‘ _If only it were that simple’_ Akaashi urged to respond. Instead he steadily rose to sit up, keen to make eye contact as he proceeded. “I want that too, make no mistake. But…”

“D’you need time to think on it? I’ve got no problems if you do.”

“No, no. It’s not necessary.” With a nod he motioned for Bokuto to get up as well, Akaashi cupping a warm hand in both of his, as if somehow the contact… the simple sensation could bring a glimpse of fortune his way. “I appreciate your kindness but the decision isn’t mine to make.”

“Why not? There’s more than one person in a relationship, I have no right to decide on our behalf-”

“It has to be you!” Their volume increased each turn, desperation dripping in Akaashi’s voice as he clasped tight onto Bokuto’s hand for support. “I know a lot about you, but you know barely anything about me, and that’s not fair at all! That’s why I… before we even consider getting together I need to talk with you. Be honest about myself, after that, you can decide if you want to be with me.”

Confused didn’t begin to describe Bokuto’s state in that moment, and yet, ironically his head was clearer than he thought imaginable. Perhaps he could make sense of this madness after all.

“Keiji, listen to me. I don’t know what’s gone on, but you’re being ridiculously hard on yourself. Just look at you for crying out loud!” Before the other had a chance to comply Bokuto’s free hand cupped his cheek, eager to maintain his stare. “You’re not a bad person, so why’re you making out that you’ve done something terrible?”

“It’s because I have.” The words trembled slightly, Bokuto shaking his head in return.

“I don’t believe it.”

“You need to!” Akaashi pleaded, unaware of how his knuckles whitened when they clenched around Bokuto’s hand, the man in question dismissing the action calmly. Meanwhile the tell-tale hold of an incoming panic attack seized Akaashi’s chest, crushing his innards as he attempted to collect himself. “I really don’t want you to leave, not after all this but-”

 “I won’t!”

“ _You can’t guarantee that!”_

“ _I can!_ We’ve all done terrible things... how bad can whatever you’ve done _possibly_ be?!” A deep, commanding tone produced itself from some unknown part of Bokuto’s throat, successfully alarming and condemning the pair to quieten down.

 As the seconds ticked by neither spoke, guilt washing over Bokuto when he spied the hurt, the sheer dread in those green eyes that had him swallowing iron weights when he gulped.

“I…”

“Yes…?” His voice came softly now, encouraging, willing all the powers combined that his suspicions were nothing but that, just speculation, a mere jumping to conclusions.

 In a second they would be laughing again. Yes, the sarcasm would return and they would go back to admiring the city, the endless stretch of stars… before joking about their peers, and how long it would take for one of them to get drunk and spend the rest of their night halfway up the Dorms stairs. Maybe, if they were generous enough, they might even give the unfortunate soul a helping hand to their bed.

 Of course, it was wishful thinking, if nothing else. In that fleeting instant the breeze adopted a sudden bite, the chill causing the hands holding Bokuto’s to grow cold, and Akaashi’s gaze to turn dull in the process.

“Koutarou… I think I killed someone.”

 

 


	14. Thread

 A murder confession wasn’t the best way to end to a party, all things considered, and no amount of preparation could have readied Bokuto for such an announcement. The sheer joy of having his affection’s returned was enough to send the poor man over the edge, dangling helplessly before Akaashi dealt the final blow with such an alarming admission.

 It was horrible timing, to say the least, but then when _was_ the right time to admit you’d possibly killed someone…?

 

“You really know how to pick ‘em.”

 Bokuto wasn’t keen to entertain Kuroo’s observation; bold eyes trained upon the view from his bedroom window much akin to that final night in their apartment, when Kuroo received Kenma’s letter, the catalyst which launched this entire drama.

“Akaashi’s stunning, I’ll admit that much, but I sure didn’t foresee all that nonsense last night.” Kuroo paced about the room one step at a time, well-trodden floorboards waning under his weight as he went. “There we are enjoying ourselves and you two burst in hysterically rambling about love and murder! No doubt the majority of the Roost is talkin’ about it today.”

“Drop it.” By no means did Bokuto want to think about that. It was hard enough having to listen to people gossiping after the meeting, let alone imagine what on earth they’d be saying about the Owl group now.

“Bo, in all seriousness… what’re you gonna’ do? The guy’s a murdere-”

“He doesn’t know if he did it.”

“Yes but there’s still a chance he d-”

“ _He didn’t!_ ” Bokuto’s head whipped round instantaneously, his glare honed upon the other man who, quite rightly, appeared downright horrified at the change in his friend’s personality. It held no resemblance to his typical dejected states, nor likeness to any of their past arguments... Bokuto was genuinely furious, and for once in his life, Kuroo had no clue how to handle him.

“… Koutarou?”

“If he’d really done it, why would he react in such a way? You saw how scared he was… Akaashi honestly doesn’t know whether he did it or not!”

 Rather than offer a speedy reply, Kuroo took a much needed, pensive breath before joining Bokuto by the window. The latter of which had since returned his attention to the scenery beyond the glass, tracing every brick and roof tile in a bid to distract himself.

“Bo… I’m not gonna’ say I understand. I can’t. If Kenma said something like that to me I’d be shocked too, I-”

“Would you say _he_ did it?” Bokuto awaited Kuroo’s reply, the man stumbling on his words in astonishment.

“O-Of course not! Kenma wouldn’t kill anyone!”

“That’s how I feel about Keiji.”

 The use of first name caught Kuroo thoroughly off guard, and had him shaking his head in dismay. Bokuto was far too engaged in these events for his liking, and whilst there was no way to prove anybody’s innocence, the least he could do was prevent his friend from falling into further trouble.

“Bokuto… I know writing’s not your thing, but… would you like to stay with my group for a while?”

 “Why on earth would I do that?”

 Kuroo was all too aware of the need to tread carefully, letting a forced, light-hearted laugh commence his statement. “It’s only to give Akaashi some space-”

“He’s getting that as we speak.” Bokuto interrupted via a scowl, “We all decided to leave him be until he’s ready to talk.”

“That’s not enough. I- look...” There was no right way to dance about the topic, Kuroo realised as he rubbed a palm to his forehead. “I’m worried about you being here, with this lot. The only time they’re mentioned is when something bad happens, and I don’t want you dragged into their mess.”

“Kuroo-!”

“ _Listen to me_.” The hand previously upon Kuroo’s forehead made to grasp Bokuto’s shoulder next, his true feelings conveyed via a clench of his fingers, thumb meanwhile digging into a spot above his collarbone. “It’s been what, three weeks now, give or take…? There’s still time for you to switch groups. After all, why stick around with a bunch of people you don’t even know?”

“I _do_ know them! In fact I probably know more about them than half the people who’ve been in this place for years! _”_ Tension strained his speech when Bokuto snapped, fists clenched by his sides. “Even if Akaashi and I did get off to a horrible start, all the group has ever done is accept me! _They’re_ the ones who’ve helped me settle in, taught me how to perform… they even sorted out the cut on my back and saved me from getting stupidly ill! How on earth can you say they’re bad people after all that?!”

“I didn’t _say_ it. I mean I got along with them well enough during the parties so-”

“But you’re _thinking_ it, right?” Bokuto wouldn’t permit a word in edgeways, his frown hardening all the while Kuroo contemplated an answer. Sure enough the hesitation rang clear, arms falling by the man’s sides, followed by a laboured breath escaping his lips shortly after.

“You’re forgetting one important thing.” He eventually uttered. “Why is it that you’re even here, hm…?”

Oh… Bokuto feared it might come to this.

“Come on; let’s not go down that route, yeah? Time to work together and-”

“Which of us two got us out of that crap apartment…?” Kuroo pursued the matter relentlessly, endeavouring to seize the upper hand in a fashion befitting of a predator. “ _Who_ exactly do you have to thank for the fact you’re not in another factory right now? Did one of your new friends do all that?”

“No, but you know I’ve been grateful for what you’ve done!” Bokuto couldn’t stress that much more if he tried, a look of desperation washing over his features and silently urging Kuroo to likewise see some sense.

“If you were really grateful, you’d be taking my advice and leaving this lot behind, not questioning my motives as if _I’m_ the killer around here.”

“Tetsurou, don’t be so st-”

“You might as well be one, what with the way you’re staring him down like some animal.”

 Needless to say the voice startled them both, Kuroo and Bokuto exchanging panicky glances before whipping their heads in the direction of the door. As per terrible timing they noticed Akaashi propped up against the doorframe, his eyes dulled and face similarly drained. Konoha’s blanket was draped about his shoulders, likely given to him as a means of support, which Akaashi occasionally tugged at with a slender hand.

“Do you mind? We were trying to talk.”

 In record speed Kuroo had switched to be on full alert, avoiding Akaashi’s stare as if that might trigger whatever lunatic, killing tendencies he supposedly possessed. Oddly enough Akaashi proved calm in contrast, distant but not entirely torn from reality, and rather than fault Kuroo further for his ways, his features dimmed to convey sympathy, above all else.

“I need to speak with you as well, both of you.”

“Not happening.”

“Give him a chance!” Bokuto spoke up, Kuroo accepting as much with a heavy outward breath.

“Fine… But what could you possibly have to offer, knowing what I do about you?”

“Yaku told me you still want to learn about that case.” The widening of Kuroo’s eyes failed to go amiss to either spectator, Akaashi noting his response with a hum. “I can talk about it, if you’d like.”

 Granted, it was a solid proposition, yet Kuroo’s stubborn nature prevailed. It was too soon for him to be letting his guard down. “And what will you gain from it? I still intend on convincing Bokuto to join my group, you know.”

“Of course, but that’s his choice.”

“ _You-”_

 A single hand raised, Akaashi halting the complaint in a habit not too unlike Sugawara’s. “Neither you nor I have the right to sway Bokuto’s decision, he’s not a child. Still I… I want to spend more time with him, and if my being honest will help that happen, so be it.”

 Albeit cruel, Kuroo couldn’t resist a scoff at that remark. “Telling the truth won’t do a thing.”

“Perhaps not, but if I remain silent then Bokuto might as well leave.”

“And why’s that?” A careful glance informed him to be more tactful with his words, spying the increasing hopeless expression tugging at Bokuto’s face. He was successfully caught between the two in their debate, and by no means did he intend of leaving the poor soul there to suffer.

 In the meantime Akaashi pulled the blanket around himself some more, averting his gaze. “I’m sure you don’t trust me, and right now I haven’t given Bokuto much reason to either… That’s why if you’ll at least let me explain how things are, we might be able to move forward. So please, can I…?”

 No words sounded in those seconds subsequent, Kuroo’s eyes drifting to Bokuto in question until he earnt a hasty nod in reply.

“I… I want to know.”

“Alright then.” There was no need to persuade further, his attention eventually giving Akaashi some form of regard. “When shall we do this?”

“Meet me at the Hall tonight, around eight. I’ll be bringing Tooru as well if you don’t mind, so it’ll be the four of us.”

“What, you need him to hold your hand or something?” Came the snide retort, Bokuto jutting his elbow in Kuroo’s side when Akaashi’s demeanour sank, shoulders drooping to the extent the blanket should have fallen off, were it not for fists clenching the fabric in a vice-like grip.

“More or less.”

“We accept.” Bokuto confirmed before Kuroo had so much of a chance to open his mouth, all the while burning him with a judging glare.

 With that said and done the trio were left speechless. Bokuto turned his head this way and that, attempting to gauge the delicacy of the mood lingering over them like a veil, too delicate, too easy to ruin. By sheer luck Akaashi gradually met his wandering gaze, faltering when Bokuto in turn offered a kind, reassuring grin.

“I believe in you, even if this idiot has doubts.”

“ _Ouch_!”

 Conceivably in retaliation for all the absurd comments, a knee lifted to knock into Kuro’s arse and send him toppling sideward, Bokuto exceptionally thrilled to see the poor owl by the door crack a half-smile at the sight.

“Thank you, but let’s leave it until later, ok?” Akaashi turned on his heel to leave, “Oh, and if you’re heading to the Dome for practice would you mind apologising to the others? I’d like to go join them but-”

“Best to keep out of sight until the rumours dies down, yeah?” Bokuto joined his side in a flash, leaning round to keep eye contact. “I got it. I’ll tell anyone who gossips to shut up too, fight ‘em if you want.”

“Please don’t.” Akaashi appeared conflicted but spoke gently, Bokuto only maintaining his warm smile when a hand was placed on his upper arm.

“I meant what I said.”

 “Honestly… you’re too good.” The hand quickly withdrew as if it had grasped a hot iron, leaving a phantom trace of Akaashi’s touch in its wake.

“Keiji?”

“Later.”

 

 Before long Bokuto came to gawk at the various knots and grain lines which formed a pattern upon the door to Akaashi’s room. Meanwhile somewhere in the back of his mind, and literally the room behind, a groan alerted him to the presence of a rightly dazed Kuroo.

“You sent me flying.”

“Sorry.”

 The apology was far from sincere, but then Kuroo got what he deserved for such daft remarks. Evidently his companion predicted as much, paying no mind to the distinct absence of care, instead clapping a hand to the owl’s back whilst he entered the hallway.

“See you at eight, then?”

 The words barely registered when Bokuto continued to travel the map of woodwork before him, his head soon darting to peer down the length of the hallway where Kuroo trod. “W-Wait!”

“Mm? What is it?”

“I’m sorry… that I upset you. Didn’t really think about whether you might be hurt or jeal- no, not that… eh, you know what I mean?”

“I was jealous.” Kuroo admitted casually, casting a fleeting grin Bokuto’s way. “But that’s in the past as of now. All I can do is hope that you’re right, about Akaashi that is.”

“Then does that mean you believe me? You agree he didn’t kill anyone?” Strides turned into bounces, Kuroo hopping down the nearby staircase with the eager owl not too far behind.

“I’m willing to give him the benefit of the doubt. As you said, he only _thinks_ he did it.”

“Good!”

 Their mood had shifted with the weather. The wintery gales previously tearing at the Dorms whirled into brief, yet welcome hush, and the grey skies above were oddly soothing as the pair crossed the courtyard, soon parting ways when Kuroo signalled towards the Hall.

“Good luck with practice.” He called before he made to enter the grand dark wood doors, a sly cat-like grin fixed upon his skin like a tattoo when he spoke.

“You too, with um- whatever you’re writing!”

 “I don’t even know what we’re doing half the time, if I must be honest.” Kuroo joked as the weight of the doors and a rising wind began to haul them shut, leaving Bokuto alone in the courtyard.

 

 One could speculate it was the wind’s doing, or that Bokuto’s arm muscles weren’t quite up to scratch, but for some reason the doors to the Dome were a little more taxing to pull in that moment.

 In fact it never really occurred to him until then just how heavy they were… Or rather, how light they became when he’d hold the door open for Akaashi with an overly dramatic bow, doing his utmost to be nothing short of a gentleman whilst he’d usher the other man inside. It started as a silly gesture, (like most things Bokuto did) which Akaashi misinterpreted to be an absolute mockery of his own manliness. In time however the scowls shifted into smiles and slowly rolling eyes, Akaashi eventually opting to give a little bow in return, if he were feeling generous enough at the time.

 Alas there was no one to hold the door open for today, no breakfast or lunch to share either, Bokuto acknowledged with a pang of dismay, pondering aloud just when he had become so dependent on the company of his fellow group member. Not that it was an issue, mind you.

 

 

“Oh look, he’s finally here!”

 Bokuto wasn’t entirely sure which way he should look first when he entered the Dome. Up above there hung a web of rope, a safety net which took up a reasonable stretch of the space just above the audience’s seats. The need for such measures became glaringly obvious when he noted the three trapeze bars aligned one after the other, leading to a safety platform connected to the elaborate pipework overhead. From that there trailed a simple rope ladder, the end of which disappeared somewhere beyond the seats at the far end of the room.

 For now though, he deemed it best to reciprocate whoever had acknowledged his presence, the person in question being an incredibly relaxed Futakuchi draped across a chair in the back row.

“What’re you doing here?”

“Nice to see you too, prick.” Talking to Futakuchi often met with difficulties, and in all honesty Bokuto would rather be walking on hot coal than juggling this incredibly hazardous line of conversation.

“Sorry, sorry. Normally you’re outside so-”

“Have you seen it out there?” Fortunately Futakuchi was in abnormally good spirits, a grin stretching over his face. “No way am I standing out in the cold weather all day! Besides Aone wanted to come visit, so I tagged along.”

“Huh.”

 Bokuto scanned the room for the aforementioned individual, spotting his white hair easily enough amidst the unusually crowded Dome. What proved more bizarre was his choice of company however, Aone currently engaged in conversation (a major feat in itself) with Iwaizumi, Tora and Kyoutani.

“Why’re they all here too?”

“Haven’t you heard?” The more Futakuchi spoke the further he seemed to be disappearing into the plush seat, a hand meanwhile tugging his thick wool coat over himself. “Washio earnt himself a little following after his victory last night, all the muscles in the Roost combined are fawning over his strength, not that I can blame them of course, even I was impressed.”

“Amazing,” Bokuto sneered, “ _You_ of all people?”

“It’s insane I know, I didn’t think I was capable of complimenting anybody.” At that point Futakuchi let out a yawn, content beneath the cover of his coat and no doubt ready for a nap (clearly Konoha’s influence had rubbed off on him somewhere). “And yet here I am, being a decent human being. Fucking incredible.”

“Don’t change.” The words were well-intentioned, Bokuto leaving a baffled Futakuchi to rest as he made his way to the front where Konoha currently stood, arms waving madly to beckon him over.

 

“There you are! I was starting to think you’d be up in your room forever.”

“Got held up.” He wasn’t lying, to say the least. “As for Akaashi he-”

“Probably can’t make it and insisted you apologise profusely for his absence?” Konoha hit the nail on the head swiftly, Bokuto nodding in confirmation. “It’s fine, really. I’d be more concerned if he insisted on showing up. You can’t perform all the while your head’s in the wrong place. Too dangerous.”

“… I see.” Sure, that made sense.

“Speaking of which, are you alright…?” Upon being questioned Bokuto shifted awkwardly under Konoha’s scrutinizing gaze, unable to bring himself to lie in such circumstances.

“It feels weird, not having him here-” The shrunken voice that left Bokuto’s lips had him startled, alarmed by his own withered nature. “He says he’s going to talk with me tonight, Kuroo too, something about a case.”

“Ah.” That was all the information Konoha needed, tenderly patting the poor owl’s shoulder so as to express his care. “He trusts you a lot.”

“You think so?”

“I know so. Anyway, what with you showing up we can finally get on with more costume fittings. I’ve only been able to sort out Washio and Onaga so far.” The hand tapped firmly now, Konoha motioning to Washio when he dropped down from the safety net above.

“Oh, looks nice!!”

 For anyone concerned it was a two piece ensemble, consisting of close-cut trousers (more like tights, if one were to be frank about it) coupled with a sleeveless roll-neck top equally snug in fit, the arm holes no doubt strategically shaped to give a cheeky hint of one’s chest. With all due respect Bokuto could hardly consider himself an expert on costumes, or any clothing for that matter. Even so he had to hand it to Konoha, the outfits were pretty good.

“It’s surprisingly comfortable.” Washio informed helpfully, head turning to follow Bokuto as he went bounding around him in a circular fashion. “Good colour choice too.”

 That went without saying, Bokuto agreed internally. Konoha had wisely chosen to go for an entirely black look, save for the golden feather-like embroidery which ran down the side seams of both garments. Whether or not this design was solely intended to suit Washio was beyond him, regardless, Bokuto couldn’t fault Konoha, Yukie and Kaori for all their work.

“Do I get to wear one of these?”

“Of course stupid, I said I needed to do more fittings.” In a split second Konoha had vanished, returning with a pile of neatly folded garments in his arms that were promptly seized by an overzealous Bokuto.

“Thank you!!”

“You’re welcome.” The unusual sense of warmth overcame Konoha when Bokuto continued to sing his praises, holding each article of clothing up to better inspect their make. It was a strange feeling, to put it simply, but then that’s how it goes when you’re better accustomed to receiving sarcasm over commendations. “All of our outfits have been kept the same, it’s easier that way.”

 Once again Bokuto could appreciate his point, though there was no guarantee that his opinion was shared, far from it in fact judging by the sudden increase in volume coming from the stage where Komi appeared, already dressed in his own costume and taking bold strides towards the group.

“Oi, I know its last minute but we might need to rethink this design-”

“No we don’t.” Utterly disinterested, Konoha raised a hand, waving it about. “I know exactly what this is about, get him out here already.”

“He’s refusing.” Komi’s body language vastly contrasted his typical upbeat approach, arms tightly crossed and foot tapping at the polished wood of the stage in an erratic fashion. “D’you have any idea what I’m gonna’ have to put up with now? He’s a nightmare when he’s grumpy.”

“That’s terrible, truly.”

“ _I’m not grumpy_!”

 Something about the constant grin on Konoha’s face told Bokuto he honestly couldn’t care less about whatever displeasure he had supposedly caused. If anything he likely hoped more misery upon his intended victim, eyes narrowing to mere slits when Sarukui entered the scene with a heavy blanket huddled around his frame.

“Aha, you’re sulking! I recognise the angry eyebrows.” Konoha enlightened, positively thrilled to see the indicators in question twitch at his retort. “Now cheer up, it’s only an outfit.”

“This isn’t what you said we’d be wearing.”

“No… but if I’d shown you the plans sooner you’d have tried to stop me.” Unfortunately neither man could disagree, Sarukui bundling the blanket into a ball which soon targeted Konoha’s face (and in fairness it would have been a brilliant shot, were it not for Washio’s speedy intrusion.)

“You know I hate tight clothing! Seriously what on earth is this supposed to be?”

“Practical. It’s not suitable for us to wear so many layers during our act.” Konoha asserted via a huff of air, not entirely keen on having his design-sense torn asunder. Nonetheless he evaluated the look, lifting a hand partway in front of his own face to inspect the other owl.

“ _Now_ what’re you up to?”

 Much to Sarukui’s dismay his inquiry was thoroughly ignored, Konoha smirking harder when Washio leant in to view from his angle. “Amazing, if you block out the miserable bastard’s head, he’s really not that bad looking… It’s so hard to tell he’s got a decent build when it’s constantly hidden under those oversized clothes.”

“Akinori-”

“I’m entitled to one rude comment, considering the daily hell these two put me through.”

 Fair enough, Washio dismissed with a bemused shake of his head. “You _could_ be a little kinder with your words though, not everybody enjoys being so exposed.”

“See! Washio gets it!”

 As far as Komi was concerned, there was no issue at all, or so Bokuto realised when he caught him with his mouth agape, eyes travelling over Sarukui’s back and well, basically everywhere his stance could permit in that instant.

“I think its fine.” He eventually piped up, “In fact I kinda’ want to thank Konoha for his hard work.”

“Hey, you’re supposed to be agreeing with _me_ here.” Sarukui exclaimed, Komi upholding no shame in cracking a palm to his backside to silence the complaints (consider it a perk to their height difference, he often reasoned).

 

 All accusations of deliberate muscle worship aside, Konoha _had_ put some thought into their clothing, which he demonstrated following a laboured sigh and an arm outstretching the blanket for Komi to take, assuming Sarukui still required the coverage.

 “I did try to compromise, but you know I have to get my work approved, right?” He began to clarify, none of his companions seeing the need to intervene. “We’ve gotten away with wearing regular clothes and costumes with larger cuts for quite a while, but the bosses insisted we go with something a bit more… showy I guess? Trust me I have no intention of looking like an idiot, so I really did think of what’d be best.”

“Suppose they _could_ be worse.” Sarukui conceded eventually, “I’m surprised we’re not shirtless or something.”

“Sugawara did suggest we go for that look. But then I brought up the distinct issue of a couple of… you know,” The words gradually trickled down in volume as they left Konoha’s mouth, having become increasingly aware of potential eavesdroppers. “Let’s say a few of us, including our newest member, bear a few additional marks which may raise a few questions from a live audience. Imagine all the horror stories people would invent, how much the Roost reputation would fall… Daichi mentioned some other things, but I forgot.”

 Komi snorted at the vague recollection. “And yet ironically, these “marks” only exist because of people like _them_. Rich, ignorant pricks who use us because we’re different.”

Quite frankly Bokuto couldn’t care less if his scar was on show, though that was very much beside the point. So as long as he was part of the group, it always would be.

“Say… Do you think Akaashi will be alright with this? I mean he doesn’t like being stared at in that way and… the outfits don’t seem to take that into consideration.”

“I highly doubt either of our dear ‘parents’ acknowledged it either.” Konoha replied to Bokuto in a near scowl, prompting a great deal of curiosity from his companions.

“Konoha…?”

“It’s nothing.”

 Little by little his stern front bowed under their stares, unseen cracks stretching across his skin until it gave way entirely with a shatter, Washio moving in to drape an arm around Konoha’s waist when his figure slumped.

“Did something happen?”

“No, no, leave it. I’m tired that’s all.”

“Akinori.”

 Konoha may have been a strong sort, but Washio’s powers of persuasion were absolute when it came to his partner.

“They didn’t care in the slightest.”

“ _What?!”_

 “Not so loud, idiots!!”

 How could they _not_ be loud? The entirety of the gathering was horrified, Bokuto equally distraught for his friends. “But what d’you mean they ‘didn’t care’? I thought they were considerate about your backgrounds, about _you_ even!”

“The Roost isn’t what you think.” To the amazement of all, it was Washio who chose to shed some light on the situation, lips pulled into a thin, tight line that mirrored his pointed glare. “If they were genuinely concerned, that ridiculous meeting would never have happened-”

“But Sugawara said they had no idea if you, Komi or I were related to the newspaper article.” Sarukui protested weakly, regrettably seeing sense in Washio’s argument.

“It still took place. After that they barely spoke to you, despite seeing how upset you’d become.”

“I suppose...”

 Washio reckoned as much, nodding sharply before continuing. “Then there’s Akaashi… Doesn’t like being on display, but he’s made to perform in front of those he wants to hide away from. Does that strike you as a good decision? D’you think Daichi and Sugawara consider _our_ feelings in this?”

“But they both seemed so…” Bokuto desired nothing more than to shoot the reasoning down, to brush off the silly talk and speak of better things. Be that as it may, their proof was solid, and he could only find himself complying to their logic with a sullen bow of his head. “… Are they happy to put us in situations which may hurt us…?”

“I wouldn’t jump that far just yet.” Komi took a chance to interject, hoping to raise the mood even by a slither. “The threat is there though, but that’s why we just gotta’ stick together, right?”

The minor pep talk had Sarukui convinced at the very least; his features relaxed whilst he took an unusual amount of devotion to folding the blanket and then shove it into Konoha’s arms. “… Good job on the clothes, really.”

“Are you actually paying me a complim-”

“Just don’t go hiding this sort of thing from us again, got it? If someone upsets you, we want to know.”

 Whatever smart remark Konoha had up his sleeve was outright stalled by Sarukui’s index finger directed to his face, and whole-heartedly he found himself at a loss for words, shrugging with a nervous laugh that set Komi and Bokuto into a fit of sneers and smirks to one another. “Ease up on the compassion; I might begin to think you’re serious.”

“We are.” Washio emphasised kindly, his good intentions backfiring and serving to be the final nail which sent Konoha’s resolve crumbling once more. Really, the man was clueless to the influence his rare, open affections had upon his lover...

“That’s it, everybody leave!” Konoha blurted at last, steering this way and that with both hands in a desperate bid to disperse the snickering crowd. When they ultimately fled it took but a second to spy that something was amiss, the eternally unfortunate man receiving a final scare when Onaga appeared seemingly out of nowhere, waving with an innocent smile.

“Were you hiding the whole time?!”

 “Maybe. They were right about what they said though; you should be open with us.”

 The rest of their little family were a terrible influence, Konoha concluded, and honestly, if Onaga had no qualms with such sly behaviour, what hope did anybody else have?

“… Go join the others, idiot. I’ll be there soon.”

 

 

“So how was practice?”

“Terrible.” The sheer exhaustion in Bokuto’s tone failed to go amiss when he approached Kuroo in the courtyard.

“But you’ve been training for a few weeks now, what could possibly have gone wrong?”

 _Everything_ , would have been Bokuto’s initial answer, though that was too blunt given the circumstances. Soundlessly he thumbed the wool of his jacket, gazing upwards to witness the murky ink of evening bleeding across the sky.

“We practiced these trapeze bar things, three in a line that lead off from a platform. A catcher hangs about on the final one, swinging upside down constantly.”

“A what now.” Kuroo was entirely lost already, cocking an eyebrow.

“Catcher. They stay on the last trapeze and during the act other performers are supposed to swing from each bar, do flips in the air and stuff. When they reach the Catcher that person grabs hold of them, and helps them turn back so they can cross the first two trapeze and return to the main platform safely.”

“Ok, I think I got it. What was the problem…?”

 When they began to stroll towards the Hall Bokuto shuddered momentarily, and something told Kuroo it wasn’t solely due to the nippy breeze. “It looked so easy at first! Really amazing too, Saru was the Catcher and Komi managed to do a load of flips in the air across all the bars, made it seem like nothing!”

“Right, but what did _you_ do?”

“I… I might’ve gotten a bit excited.”

 Aha, forever the main cause of Bokuto’s mishaps, Kuroo mused internally, motioning for him to go on.

“I forgot that I’m supposed to time my swings, so uh… I threw myself at Saru too soon, screamed, crashed into him and took us both down.”

“ _Bo, you complete mor-”_

“We had a safety net!!” Not to say that it rendered him any less of an idiot, however. “Washio helped me on the second try and I almost got it, but then I wanted to go fwoom through the air and be like a real owl and that kinda’ made me feel sick after another couple of attempts, so I threw up on the main platform.”

 At that confession Kuroo very nearly slipped, grabbing the door handle to the Hall just in time to save himself. Bokuto was clearly a magnet for disaster, and it was downright infectious to boot… How could one man be so utterly clumsy?!

“With all due respect, they’re either just as reckless as you, or have a ridiculous amount of trust.”

 Thankfully, Bokuto knew for certain it was the latter, smiling fondly when the sight of red and gold interiors greeted them both as the door gave way. The Hall persistently embodied a notion of warmth and homeliness, of the times when Bokuto was blatantly drunk, and of those when he was similarly irresponsible, but stone cold sober. Truly, from the moment they had first entered the Roost they held no ill memories of that space, and when his roving gaze fell upon Akaashi and Oikawa in the centre of the floor, he mutely prayed it would remain that way.

 

“I assume we’re having the talk here?”

“Upstairs.”

 It didn’t take a genius to notice the indifference hauling at Oikawa’s voice, his eyes directed to the second floor balcony above all the while he spoke. His actions were equally strained, and brows furrowed tight when he drew silent once more, a notion Akaashi clearly felt no need to justify for Bokuto or Kuroo judging by his own diverted gaze.

“Is everything alright?”

 What an awful line of questioning, Kuroo scolded himself inwardly when the words rolled off his tongue. As a writer he supposed he should have been more tactful, more considered with his enquiries, and yet somehow he fell severely short.

“No, I’m afraid we won’t be alone.” Oikawa eventually disclosed, “The place we need to be is locked up, and when I asked Sugawara for the keys he refused access until I agreed to have him join us.”

 Well, this was a surprise. Not only was Oikawa fuming, but he’d dropped the ‘Mama’ act too.

“It’s fine.” Akaashi tried to explain.

“ _No it’s_ _not_. He has all the information out of us, there’s no need for him to be there!”

 Call Bokuto paranoid, but Oikawa’s behaviour, on top of the group talk back in the Dome… all of it was rolling up to form one nasty mess with their ‘parents’ at the centre. In that respect he could hardly fault the Plants member for his mannerisms, but what exactly did it mean…?

“Shall we go to the place then?” Kuroo uttered at last, “Speculate down here all you want, but you won’t get any answers until we meet him in person.”

“He’s right, Sugawara’s waiting for us.” Akaashi intervened again, shepherding the group to the stairs.

 If Bokuto recalled correctly, they were headed to the same floor the meeting had been held on, a rather desolate, redundant space which barely anyone visited. Furthermore upon arrival the door to their destination was unlocked, to the surprise of no one, Oikawa forcing all of his bitterness into giving the handle a harsh yank.

“In we go.”

 

 They might as well have been back down in the storage room, Kuroo deadpanned when the overpowering stench of must his nostrils. Dark wood panelling travelled the stretch of the slim, twisting path they roamed from then on, the end of which abruptly brought them to a deep green velvet drape which Oikawa stopped before.

“I can’t stress this enough,” He commenced calmly, turning to face the gathering. “Everything beyond this point is to be kept between us. Only a few people know the absolute content of the room, and we need it to stay that way.”

“Sure.” Both Bokuto and Kuroo replied, Oikawa lingering a moment longer until he grasped the fabric of the curtain and dragged it aside, a waft of dust and ink numbing their senses on impact.

‘Insane’ would have been Kuroo’s opening interpretation to the mess that lied ahead. Any other descriptions he keenly desired to voice were lost amidst the waves of yellowing papers dangling across the stretch of the room, strings of clippings crossing and looping akin to decorative banners and bunting.

Of course this was not a party, and the details on the papers hardly called for celebration.

 

“Come in; be careful not to trip or step on anything.” Sugawara’s commanded sounded from afar, Oikawa leading the way by ducking through the parchment labyrinth. At a glance one could assume there were furnishings in the room, but those too were buried beneath paperwork, the walls also plastered with notes.

 A few more careful steps subsequent brought them to the back end of the chamber where a single desk, and Sugawara, respectively sat, the man barely acknowledging them whilst he flicked through some sheets. “I must say I’m still curious why you felt it vital to talk to them in here. They’ve barely been in the Roost a month, so suffice to say you’re dragging irrelevant people into serious business.”

 And there it was… the elusive change in Sugawara’s personality they had witnessed during the party last night. Thankfully Oikawa refused to be deterred, slapping a hand to the desk to gain his undivided attention.

“That’s our decision to make, don’t you think?”

“It’s unnecessary-”

“Koushi, please.” Were it not for the dwindling atmosphere, the group would have applauded Akaashi for his decision in resorting to first name, noting how Sugawara shifted awkwardly in his seat and the papers crumpled in his hands slightly.

“Alright… but if they start gossiping to others-”

“They won’t, Kuroo can help us!” Akaashi maintained a firm approach, “He’s covered the case before, and he’s still interested in investigating it so why not let him know more?”

“’Covered’ is a bit of a stretch, he barely scraped the surface.”

“What?”

 Sugawara’s head shook softly, producing the papers in his hand for them to see. “I’ve been reading through your articles Kuroo. You know absolutely nothing and honestly I don’t know why a paper outside of the city would be writing about it. It’s not their business.”

_“None of our business?!”_

 It was one thing to label them irrelevant, but to insult Kuroo’s writing above all else… That was a totally different case.

 Kuroo was pissed, Kuroo had no patience and Kuroo certainly gave no thought to how blatantly terrifying he became as he leant over the desk to challenge Sugawara’s commentary. “Easterners don’t just live in Vol, Bo and I are proof of that! If something happens, if something is out there threatening our people we all have a right to know!”

“But the fact remains _you don’t know_!”

“That’s because I wasn’t able to go visit Vol! I reported solely on the few facts I could leak from the poli-” With that Kuroo halted, eyes widened in recollection. “N-Never mind. You’re right.”

 “Kuroo… Did you steal information from the police?”

“Forget about it! I don’t work for that newspaper anymore so it’s done!”

 Far from it, Sugawara settled when his expression brightened into a smirk. “I won’t ask how you did it, but I’m impressed. Looks like we can rely on you after all…”

“I had no clue he was a criminal.” Bokuto humorously leapt to his own defence, Kuroo slapping his pointed finger away with a huff.

“I’m not a cr-! Actually, I might be if they ever found out, but still.”

“You’ll be safe enough here.” Sugawara detailed, his stare following Akaashi as he stepped about the space to approach the vast side wall. “Anyway, I suppose it should be obvious by now but this is an investigation room of sorts. Over time we’ve been collecting information on Eastern-related news: murders, accidents, anything which can help pinpoint a main figure responsible for the hate crimes on our people.”

“I’d say it’s been going pretty well.” Kuroo spoke up whilst he surveyed the chaos of reports and observations hanging around them.

“On the contrary.”

 Via a small jerk of his head Sugawara highlighted a bundle of paper to his right. In comparison to the surrounding scenes it was considerably lacking, a single newspaper and some scraps of writing underneath.

“This is all we have to show for whatever happened to Washio and the others. They told us what they could, but it’s not enough to go on.”

“Excuse me,” Bokuto interrupted on cue, “But what exactly are you gonna’ do even if you did get more information?”

 The question, albeit innocent and ill-informed, wracked through Sugawara like a bullet that had his eyes growing large. “We’d take them down, of course. All those who so much as dare to think it acceptable to hurt others must be punished. It’s the law.” To his closing statement he calmed, opening one of the desk drawers to put the pile away. “That said, there’s nothing to be gained from this particular inquest, from what we know Stoker wasn’t driven by hate for our kind. It’s pure coincidence that those he victimised were Easterners.”

 Something about his reasoning didn’t settle well with Bokuto, a notion shared by Akaashi when their glances met.

“Are you saying you’re ditching the case?”

 The drawer shut with a hefty thump, Sugawara eyeing the pair. “We have more important things to be worrying about.”

“That’s not what you said after the meeting!” Oikawa of all chose to butt in, snatching the attention up fast. “You told me you were worried about them, that you’d see their case through-”

“It’s irrelevant.”

Irrelevant, irrelevant… Honestly, Kuroo was beginning to hate that word with a passion.

 Regardless, no amount of shoving could bring Sugawara to alter his beliefs, his glare narrowed and posture stiffened to convey his authority. “I’m sorry for what happened to them, truly, but the fact stands it happened several years ago. The three of them were young, careless dare I say it. We have no reason to doubt that their personalities, on top of their misconducts, drove Stoker to react as he did, end of.”

“ _But they deserve to-”_

“Tooru… need I remind you you’re here to offer Keiji support, not question our methods?”

 Eerily the air shifted when Oikawa effectively shut up, Sugawara recognising each individual in turn before he plucked Kuroo’s articles from the desk once more. “Now then… onto the main investigation. Whilst I faulted Kuroo’s articles, he’s not entirely wrong. I’ll blame his unreliable sources for the errors.”

 What with the constant move in attitude Kuroo upheld no yearning to convey his thanks, staring hard at the supposed parental figure. The silence spoke volumes in their exchange, and Sugawara saw fit to proceed before the situation grew further out of hand.

“Let’s review the facts first, tell me what _you_ know.”

“Why?” Kuroo turned to gawk incredulously at his companions, “Aren’t we here to find out the truth from you guys?”

“We need to know where to start.” Akaashi piped up sincerely, “There’s no benefit to simply repeating details.”

 A valid argument, Kuroo accepted. Truthfully, killer or not, Akaashi was the most sensible, reliable person in the room (besides Bokuto, naturally). “Ok. So from what I know, in 1898 a passenger ship arrived in Vol. As those aboard came to shore they were attacked, most of them killed.”

 As if the build-up of pressure wasn’t enough to send Kuroo’s nerves skywards, Akaashi, Oikawa, and Sugawara failed to indulge his explanation, withholding their critique. It was disturbing, to say the least, but a reassuring nudge from Bokuto beckoned him to go on. In the end he’d spent long enough ranting to the poor owl about the case, so why on earth should he stumble when the truth was right there, suspended before his very eyes?

“… From there on out, all I know is that there were few survivors. They disappeared without a trace and only two months later did I hear that a couple had made it through the horror. As for where those people ended up, the police never knew. Rumours said they went back home.”

“Wrong.” Oikawa blurted, Kuroo nodding respectfully in return.

“I know. You both ended up here.” His voice evoked nothing but empathy all the while Oikawa wandered to stand by Akaashi’s side. “I thought maybe it was only Akaashi at first, but it’s obvious by your relationship, how protective you are of him, that you were both involved.”

“You’re still wrong.” Came an almost sing-song remark.

“How?”

“There were _four_ of us. Akaashi, myself and a pair of siblings.” It wouldn’t do to tease the bewildered folk too long, or so Oikawa realised when Bokuto’s head was tilted to the point of rolling right off his shoulders. “I’m sure it might be confusing, but if you think back to the day when we visited the port you-”

 No… it made absolute sense. More sense than Kuroo could have ever conceived and oh, there was no better way to articulate his revelation than through a strangled outburst.

“ _You mean Tora and Akane?!”_

“Don’t be silly, they’re perfectly happy.” Bokuto went to jibe until Kuroo threw his hands up with another weird sound in disbelief.

“No it has to be them! Kenma told me they had a bad background, and at the port- _fuck_ I remember you and Tora were constantly together!” Really now, Kuroo felt like a fool, the answers had been right in front of him all along! “Then there was the time in the Dome, when we were playing chess, Akane was being really friendly with Akaashi, not to mention they’ve spoken a lot at the parties. That’s just a few examples but I’m right, aren’t I?! They’re the only two it could be!”

“Correct.” Brimming with pride, Oikawa’s smile never faltered, his smug form engaged wholly at a frowning Sugawara. “See? He figured that much out. Do you still consider them ‘irrelevant’?”

“Very well, you’ve convinced me. Tell them what you want.”

“Thank you.” Without further ado his head bowed, fingers interlacing with Akaashi’s so as to pry him from the nerve riddled silence he had since fallen head first into. “Come on, I said I’d help you with this. You can’t back out on me.”

“I won’t.” Akaashi eventually mumbled, hair shifting when his head shook side to side. “But there are still a few holes in Kuroo’s understanding I can’t ignore.”

“True… but we don’t have to tell them _every_ detail.” Oikawa produced a light-hearted laughter afterwards, giving their hands a squeeze. “It’s not worth putting you through the stre-”

“I promised to talk, and I will.” Akaashi pressed. To Sugawara and Oikawa’s astonishment his resolution presented more strength than ever, but then it was essential, considering the story he’d soon relay.

“We’ll start from the beginning, back on that ship two years ago.”

 


	15. Granite

For all his tenacity, his proud declaration to reveal the truth, Akaashi wasn’t doing much talking.

“Would you like me to begin?” Oikawa, being the good friend he was, proposed to shoulder some responsibility.

“Our stories are different.”

“True.”

Their exchange made very little sense.

 It was going to be a long night as far as the desk clock was concerned, and the very least Sugawara could do was play host to the room’s temporary guests. A bit of rummaging the past few minutes had led to the discovery of a small, rectangular table, some chairs too, which the group set up at the centre of the room facing the grand wall Akaashi insisted on pacing laps before. 

“These are too low.” Kuroo complained regarding the strips of paper hung above, a fingertip batting at those which persisted on brushing the tips of his hair when he turned about.

“Your hair’s too tall.” Hypocrite Bokuto retorted.

“We need a drink.”

 Sugawara was the culprit behind the final comment, his voice trailing from the inner depths of a cupboard he was searching which, as one might’ve guessed, was likewise hidden beneath a ton of newspaper scraps.

 More like crap, Kuroo noted, failing to grasp who or what they were supposed to be focusing on within this hoarder’s domain… investigation room, whatever.

 It’s not to say that his interest in the case had waned, oh no, but all the while they were left staring at copious scribbles and tabloids connected via coloured threads, their being here was pointless.

Irrelevant, he almost dared to admit.

 

“What was the weather like that day, when you were on the ship?”

 To that question Akaashi stilled, feet frozen in place as if the floorboards were caked with tar. The inquiry resulted in several perplexed stares to be sent Bokuto’s way, his shoulders shrugging with the utmost of innocence.

“It was nice.” Akaashi began, “The seas were calm, oddly so considering it was autumn.”

“Mhm.”

 In most situations Kuroo would have branded Bokuto a fool, criticised his intentions to hell and back and recommended he keep his daft mouth shut. But in all honesty, he was onto something. Akaashi wasn’t the sort to surrender information under direct interrogation, but if they could have him stay on topic via indirect enquiries, just until he was ready, that might do the trick…

 For all they knew however, Bokuto hadn’t thought his actions through. Perhaps he was simply stalling for time, but no matter. Reasons aside, Kuroo came very close to branding him a genius. An Akaashi genius.

The pleasant exchanged rolled on after that.

“My boat was pretty cramped.” Bokuto entailed, going into more depth than anyone had required about his own trip to the West.

“Ours was too.” Came the audible grimace from Oikawa, who then beckoned for Akaashi to go on.

 Indeed, Akaashi recalled the ship well. It had originated from a Western company, a well-travelled vessel solely used for transporting immigrants across the oceans. In light of this it was quite compact, consisting of an open deck with but a single staircase leading down below. Both crew and passenger would make home there, multiple people tucked up snug in the cubby holes which covered the breadth of the walls. As a lone voyager this had proven most intimidating, but thankfully Akaashi found company in a small, welcoming family of four, who held no qualms with a young man sharing their accommodation (for lack of better words).

 In retrospect, it was a wonder he hadn’t bumped into Oikawa upon boarding the ship, or the Yamamoto siblings for that matter. They’d likely settled much further down the vessel for the duration of their journey, cold and sleep deprived when the sailors off duty would begin to snore, their sounds mimicking the surrounding wooden walls which would creak whenever the boat rocked.

 Akaashi had quite liked that motion himself, albeit rough when the seas would pick up every now and then.

 

“Here.” Soft clacks accompanied Sugawara’s speech as he placed a collection of glass tumblers upon the table. One for each person, Akaashi included, filled to the brim with a substance Bokuto rightly suspected to be alcohol, above all else.

 Try as they might to lure Akaashi from his shell, the agreeable questions could only go so far. They had come to hear the truth, not pass about their humorous tales of getting to the Western world, entertaining as they were. It was time to be firm, and if Oikawa’s tightened lips were anything to go by, it would be happening soon enough.

“Akaashi,” He started, trapping his friend’s focus with an unyielding gaze, “Remember when we approached Vol?”

“Of course.”

 How could he forget? The silhouettes of buildings, brickwork piled high through the wafting smoke to the point they could tears the skies apart, if it were possible… Akaashi was certain he’d never be rid of that image if he tried.

“It’s a wonder we didn’t take that as a warning sign.” Oikawa pronounced when he plucked his glass from the table, taking an absurdly large sip considering their story had barely begun. Something about that in particular, coupled with Akaashi’s pensive breaths when he stared at a certain article pinned to the wall, sent Bokuto’s nerves awry.

“Kuroo… there’s another error we failed to address, regarding your knowledge of the case that is.”

“Oh?”

 Akaashi only nodded. “None of us were given time to leave the ship before the incident happened. As per the Captain’s orders, all passengers had gathered downstairs, collecting their belongings in preparation for departure. Our attackers boarded the moment the boat docked.”

“Oh…” Honestly, was this the best response Kuroo could come up with?

 Nevertheless, it was sufficient. Rather than pursue the story further Akaashi returned to the tabloid which had garnered his attention, tapping a single fingertip to the ink in thought.

“Let me ask you something… if you were one them, who would you target first?”

A pressing, gruesome topic, to say the least.

 Sugawara took the cue to remain quiet from there on out, Kuroo shifting in his seat and clearing his throat during silent prayer that someone else, namely Bokuto, would take the reins for this one.

“The crew, obviously. Most sailors are familiar with combat.”

“Correct.” Akaashi detailed, “Though that causes a scene. You’re at a busy port and granted, people may be too scared to get involved… but you then have the issue of the passengers. What of them?”

“Kill them all.” Kuroo wholly cursed his tongue for giving those words shape, looking to Akaashi shortly after. “Which doesn’t make sense as to why there were survivors, four of you in fact.”

 Were the situation better, Akaashi might’ve smiled in appreciation for his quick-thinking. Alas all he could envision was the chorus of footsteps when their assaulters climbed down below deck, the screams and shrieks coming in waves when they proceeded to haul people from the cubby holes, piling them up… organising them.

“It was common knowledge that the ship existed to carry immigrants, they knew exactly who their victims were.”

“Right but that doesn’t answer how or why you-”

“They were after a specific type of person.” Akaashi yearned for a distraction from that memory, his eyes trailing the city map which lay behind the array of papers tacked to the wall. “Anyone from our age group, regardless of gender. Provided you were healthy, and attractive, you lived.”

 Bokuto’s stomach turned to an iron lump. “You four... were spared because of your appearance?”

“Yes.”

 Everything was falling into place.

 “Rather than hide, I went to shield the family I had spent the journey with, thought I was being brave. In reality I’d gone and exposed myself, and before I knew it I was dragged out to join Oikawa and the Yamamotos, after which-”

“Everybody was killed.” Oikawa finished, saving Akaashi the labour of delivering the news himself. “The bastards wanted to spill enough blood to have the reporters and police flooding in, and we weren’t taken off the ship until the job was done.”

“They managed.” Kuroo choked.

 One glance towards Bokuto filled him with dread. The poor soul had come to understand Akaashi’s hatred for his initial behaviour all too fast, and since driven his stare deep into the grain of the wooden table. If he wanted to break down right there Kuroo wouldn’t have blamed him in the slightest, however he gained the impression Bokuto desired otherwise, wanted to hold out in respect for Akaashi and Oikawa.

That did little to change the fact he’d been an utter moron.

“I… can’t say for sure what happened afterwards.” Akaashi’s words manifested unnecessary guilt when he continued, as if he were apologising for his lack of knowledge. “We were put in some kind of vehicle and taken away, to a slave market.”

 As if it couldn’t have gotten worse…

 Kuroo groaned inwardly in dismay, rubbing a hand to his forehead. “Were you there long, if you don’t mind me asking?”

“No, a week or two at most... The auction waited until the hype of the tragedy was at its peak, and then we were put on sale, as a set.” Akaashi looked away from the wall long enough to see Sugawara near-on steaming, his fist clenched against the table. “Imagine it, a whole ship of travellers wiped out, and then all of a sudden four decent looking survivors appear in a slave market. I don’t know the exact number, but a great deal of people showed up, so I can imagine the winning bid was high.”

“That’s fucking disgusting. Why does such a place exist?!” Kuroo exclaimed. The hand on his forehead now slapped the table top, and it was Sugawara he sought answers from there on.

“It’s gone. Over a year ago police stormed the establishment and arrested all those responsible for its organisation. Anyone being held there at the time was returned to their homes.”

“But what about those already sold? About these lot?!” Kuroo waved to Oikawa and Akaashi. “Couldn’t they have found the records of those who had won previous auctions and tracked them down?!”

“They didn’t keep such information! It’s far too risky!” Oikawa snapped, chugging more of his drink down at an alarming rate. “We were bought by some old aged, wealthy prick that lived in the north of Vol-” His explanation cut short having spied Bokuto and Kuroo’s steadily withering appearances, disgust being his primary response. “This is ridiculous… we’ve barely started telling you the truth and you’re _already_ shrinking in your seats? _We’re_ the ones who went through all this; the least you can do is get a backbone and listen!”

 Oikawa was pissed and rightly so, neither man could deny him that.

“S-Sorry.” Kuroo adjusted his posture, head bowing in confirmation to Akaashi that yes, they were fine, and please, they _needed_ to know more.

 It was around then however that he realised Akaashi was facing him, true, but as for wherever he really was… that was beyond anybody.

“Keiji…?”

 The tell-tale interlinking of Akaashi’s fingers hauled Bokuto from his seat in seconds to take trembling hands into his own, giving them a reassuring squeeze. “Hey, take a breath.”

 A single lungful wouldn’t cover it, as far as the despairing glint in Akaashi’s eye was concerned. Faster and faster his head shook, attempting to rid of whatever visions plagued his head and withheld his will to speak.

“I believe you didn’t kill anyone, really.”

“I-It’s not that.”

 Bokuto didn’t follow. “Then what…?”

“The old man loved parties, and above all, easterners.” Oikawa struck up the next topic, approving when Bokuto used an arm to bring Akaashi close to his chest. “When we arrived at his mansion we were put into two groups, Tora and Akane, then Akaashi and I. None of us had a solid grasp of the language so he used an interpreter to speak with us, told us we had a choice-”

“Tooru wait-” Akaashi wasn’t sure if he could fulfil his promise. On cue his wavering eyes met Bokuto’s, reminding himself to steal a sharp intake of air. “You can’t… don’t jump to conclusions, please-”

“ _I won’t._ ” Bokuto reminded, tugging him into an embrace with both arms now. “Just shh, you need to trust me.”

 His reply came in the form a hand that clutched the back of his shirt, Oikawa pitying the pair with a weighty sigh. “The old man was a collector of foreigners, used them as… entertainers, to put it simply.” The way Akaashi flinched when he spoke sent a pang of guilt coursing through his body, and Kuroo’s hardened glare only served to downright worry them all.

“ _Entertainers..?_ ”

“ _We didn’t sle-!”_

“Keiji it’s alright!” Oikawa grew desperate, pleading. It’s not to say that Kuroo was the blatant enemy here, but his blunt observations were doing little to aid the mood, nor Akaashi’s increasingly fragile state. “The bastard didn’t need all four of us at his parties, therefore he offered us a deal. One pair would stay below and do chores, help earn us food and drink each week, the other would go attend the events and see to the guests.”

 Needless to say, that moment had burnt itself into the back of their minds. The siblings had been inconsolable, from the moment the ship was attacked Tora became livid, barking threats in all directions whilst focusing on keeping Akane safe. No doubt if she hadn’t been there, he’d have been disposed of with the rest. Too violent.

 His attitude hadn’t lessened there on out, not at the auction, and most certainly not in the cell they were held in upon arrival to the mansion. Anyone who so much as looked the wrong way earnt a glare and torrent of strangled warnings, a habit their new ‘owner’ thankfully dismissed, or so help them Tora would have certainly been killed in that moment too.

“Akaashi and I volunteered as the entertainers.” Oikawa said in a shaky tone, wary of his friend as he did so. “There was no telling what they’d want from us, so how could we possibly let a brother and sister go through that?! At least- I-… if the guests _wanted_ to go that far with us, it was better to have two guys do it, right? No severe consequences.”

“Pregnancy, you mean?” Kuroo barely voiced above a whisper, Oikawa’s head nodding fast.

“Though… we were lucky. We never slept with anybody, and that’s the truth. The old man hated the thought of people enjoying his ‘belongings’ in such a way.” Akaashi had long since taken to withdrawing in Bokuto’s hold, reluctant to speak. “… E-Even so, we were allowed to be held, touched within reason. Nothing obviously sexual, that would get you thrown out if you were caught, but _fuck_ … it made me feel _sick_. Most of the bastards were twice, some three times our age, at the time.”

 Kuroo set his glass down with a shudder. “I’m so sorry.”

“We kept the other two safe, that’s all that matters.” Oikawa reasoned in a soft tone, his stomach reeling momentarily in recollection of those days. In the meantime Bokuto frowned through sheer concern, motioning for Akaashi to look up.

“Is… this ok then?” The hold, he meant. It wouldn’t be right to cause further upset, assuming Akaashi disliked being touched whatsoever.

“… You’re not them.”

 It was a mantra Akaashi had mumbled over and over subsequent to their first argument. Bokuto was not them, those hands weren’t theirs, and oh god he felt so undeserving of the man. Truly, he was too kind for his own good.

“Yeah, I’m not them.” Bokuto repeated, relieved when Akaashi made to grip him tight.

 

 The group had since been convicted to silence, save for the occasional outward breath and complaint from Akaashi when Bokuto urged him to sit down at last. Oikawa meanwhile was hunched forward in his seat, head cupped in his hands.

 It was awful. Kuroo wanted the truth, but he sure as hell didn’t intend on traumatising people in the process. Wordlessly he glanced to Sugawara, who merely shifted his head to express a distinct ‘no’.

“We need to keep going, whilst we’re here.” He pressed.

“But if they’re not ready-”

“We’ll cope.” When Akaashi eventually murmured approval there was little more to be said. He rose from his seat, Bokuto’s seat to be precise, aiming to join the aforementioned man by the large wall. “… I think its best we continue. There’s more to be explained.”

 Akaashi’s so called murder, for example.

 Without another word he stood alongside Bokuto, looking out across to the table as if it were a simple presentation, and oh, if only it were…

“For the month or so we were there, our boss at the time… he kept to his word. All of us were fed, clothed, permitted to stay together... In that respect we were fortunate. But not everyone was so… accepting of his terms, nor was he always so lenient.”

Kuroo suspected that to be the case. “People pushed the limits?”

“Yes. There were some incidents in the beginning, where other entertainers were punished for not giving the guests what they wanted. They’d always carry out their threats when he wasn’t around to notice.” The tension in Akaashi’s voice failed to go amiss, his eyes lingering in Oikawa’s direction meanwhile. “I-I… I was terrified the first time I saw it. We all tried to urge him that it wasn’t the girl’s fault, that she was beaten unfairly but we had no proof. She was never seen after that.”

 _Killed,_ Bokuto and Kuroo gathered, casting apprehensive stares to one another before the latter went to speak. “So it was a case of accept the pain quietly, or death...? Honestly, if you murdered out of self-defence I can’t blame you in the slighte-”

“It wasn’t _him_ who almost died.”

“Huh?”

 Oikawa’s eyes were gloomy, miserable beyond belief. “It was me.”

“ _What?!”_

 There was nothing cheery to the smile that stretched across his face when Bokuto and Kuroo gaped in astonishment. “I pissed off one of his guests. The creepy bastard kept coming to the parties, nagging to sleep with me each and every time. I declined him, of course.”

“Good!” They answered in unison, Oikawa’s face slipping back to a neutral state.

“On the final night that I refused, he threw me down the stairs.”

 The memory caused Akaashi to wince and turn away. He had been sitting across the room when it happened, asked to stay beside a guest whilst he played cards. Before he knew it his friend’s body was hurtling down the marble staircase, high pitched screams from women close by announcing his fall.

 Oikawa wasn’t killed, obviously, but the injuries were enough to render him useless for the subsequent weeks.

“I had to stay in our cell after that.” Oikawa resumed, wrapping his arms around himself suddenly. “Never recovered in time to go and join another party.”

“And this man…” Bokuto feared what Kuroo was getting at with his inquiry, eyes honed upon Akaashi. “You wanted revenge, right?”

“More than anything.”

 _Oh no_ …

 Bokuto gulped so loud he was certain everyone had heard, but they were too distracted by Akaashi strolling towards the table where he picked up his drink at last, taking a large swig.

“Do you have _any_ idea how it could’ve felt, being in our situation?”

“No.” Kuroo wouldn’t lie amidst such serious talk. There was nothing to gain from it.

“We lost everything. Dignity first, faith in the West a very strong second,” Akaashi noted, emphasising his words with another drink from the glass. “Tooru, Tora and Akane were the only people I knew worth caring about, the only decent human beings around. Watching them terrorised and hurt daily, it made me angry, yes... Seeing one of them almost die turned my mind to darker places... However,” He set the tumbler down with a resounding clink, “I-I… couldn’t bring myself to do it. Fear got the better of me. That’s why I waited it out, and deliberately put myself in front of that same man during the following gatherings.”

“But he could’ve done the same to you!!” Bokuto exclaimed in pure horror.

“He almost did.”

 Akaashi’s shoulders were trembling, betraying the strange, forced confidence in his voice, Bokuto realised with widening eyes. “So about your back… the wound there…”

“He did that. The man wasn’t stupid, he knew I was Tooru’s friend, he anticipated I might try something.”

 Oikawa visibly shrank with guilt, jolting when Sugawara placed a hand upon his shoulder in support.

“That’d be our fault.” At last, Sugawara found his voice and likewise stirred some bewildered expressions from Bokuto and Kuroo.

“ _You?_ ”

 Sugawara felt a shred of pride in his actions, but no more mind you. “I told you, didn’t I…? The Roost exists to house those who’ve been abused by the people here. We were no different from the journalists at the time, all of us searching for a clue, a sign, anything that might suggest there were survivors from the ship attack. And there were. Our intelligence got word from a pub close to the mansion about the meet ups occurring there, and we snuck in.”

“Oh my goodness…”

“Easy on the flattery.” Sugawara commanded in a stern tone. “Our arrival didn’t go unnoticed. A huge fight broke out, and that very quickly spiralled into a fire. I assume it was started by the owner, to cover up all the evidence.”

 Akaashi’s palm became clammy during the account, and he wondered if Bokuto minded at all, minded him even.

“… That’s when I did it.” He started, gaze turned downwards when four pairs of eyes set upon him once more. “I tried to flee during the panic, thought I could get to the others easily enough before the fire took over the building but I… I didn’t think about the man.”

“He went after you?” Bokuto pried with care.

“I knew he’d kill me.” Akaashi managed to choke out. “He was insane, chased after me with a knife. As I escaped he tackled me to the floor and we fought, hence the cut on my back but -”

“Breathe.”

 The reminder was always welcome, Akaashi thanked internally as he obeyed. It did nothing to still his nerves however, quivers wracking through his body when images flashed into sight, the flames, the yelling, the absolute terror…

“Next thing I know the knife is there by my feet. I picked it up and swung behind me as I went to run, hoping, fucking praying that it was going to hit him.” Akaashi was being held to Bokuto’s chest before he had time to finish the sentence, a hand running through the back of his hair. “I saw blood on the blade, on me, and the rest I-… I don’t know.”

“You don’t know?”

“We found him collapsed at the bottom of the stairs leading to the cells.” Sugawara interjected, “No doubt he was going to save the others, but we’d gotten there first.”

“Right…” Kuroo paled with each statement, “Though you keep saying ‘we’… who exactly are you referring to?”

“The rest of the Plants group.” He stated matter-of-factly.

 It was one revelation after another with this lot, clearly.

“Recall the announcement last night, about the Plants group having to do new work?” Sugawara went on to clarify, “It’s mostly investigation business, like what they were doing back then. They’re very good at it.”

“Hajime was incredible.” Oikawa’s speech rolled out as if he were in a trance, and a pleasant one at that. “He came barging down into the basement, beat up the nearby guards and broke us out of the cell. Kyoutani and Watari were there too, but I didn’t really focus on them, not when Hajime had me in his arms, whisking me out of that dreadful place... Ugh, I still remember how much he fussed over me then…”

“I bet he regretted that decision fast.” Kuroo snorted.

“How rude! We’re in the middle of a serious discussion, in case you hadn’t noticed!”

“Says the one who just ruined the mood entirely with his fantasies.” Sugawara droned with chin propped in his hand as he leant against the table. “Now then, I believe that’s all we can say.”

 Bokuto truly wished he were lying, but one glimpse in Akaashi’s direction proved otherwise.

“… That’s really it.”

No, this wouldn’t do.

“I still believe you didn’t kill him.” Bokuto couldn’t stress the fact more if he tried. There was forever the dilemma of convincing Kuroo though, the man in question focused upon the wall just behind them, scanning for a missing detail.

“You never found him, I presume?”

“The man? No.” Nobody missed the shame tugging at Sugawara’s voice. “The police also refused access to the building once the fire was put out, so we don’t know if there were casualties, and if so, how many.”

“But the papers would have reporte-”

“The owner paid them to keep quiet, and no one had the balls to question him. We did a Kuroo and stole _that_ last snippet of information from the police.”

 Kuroo raised both eyebrows at the half-insult, chugging the remainder of his drink. “So where are the Plants lot now? Out doing your dirty work?”

Sugawara deadpanned to such a remark. “Yes, actually. They’re at the mansion as we speak.”

“You what?!”

“It’s safe enough; they used to be coal miners after all.”

“That doesn’t mean _shit_!”

 Kuroo was checking to spy Bokuto’s reaction during their debate, and yet his face maintained a sense of composure. Scratch that, his entire attention was devoted to Akaashi; uttering sweet means of encouragement all the while they held hands. The man was ridiculously in love, and his feelings hadn’t gone unrequited, Kuroo deduced from the weary, thankful glaze to Akaashi’s eyes.

“Fucking hell…”

 It was late, he established shortly after the embarrassment of trying to drink from his empty glass. More importantly, he wondered if Tora and Akane were alright. Had they been suffering all this time, keeping quiet for his sake, for everyone’s sake?

They seemed the sort; he accepted begrudgingly. A single finger nudged the tumbler aside, during which he made a mental note to spoil the poor siblings rotten with attention tomorrow. He might even drop the (joking) threats to shave Tora’s head in his sleep, all things considered.

“… Are you listening?”

“No, what did you want?” Kuroo looked taken aback by Bokuto’s determined stare.

“I said I’m staying with the Owls.”

 Kuroo knew he’d say that, his relaxed body language echoing those thoughts. “That’s fine. I trust Akaashi.”

“You do?”

“Mm. He’s been truthful the whole time tonight, I respect that. I respect what you’ve all been through.”

“Thank you.” Oikawa intervened, genuinely grateful.

 

 At long last, Sugawara could rest easy. The night had transpired at a considerably peaceful rate; what’s more Akaashi came out of the other end relatively unharmed, and with a boyfriend to boot. (Sugawara hoped they were together, anyway.)

“Hey…”

“Mm?” Sugawara shifted his focus to Oikawa now.

“What is it you’re after? Why’re you making Hajime and the others go back to that place…?”

Ah… he feared this might crop up.

“Clues, mostly. We need all the material we can get if we hope to take this case to court.”

“Meaning you lack definitive proof?” Kuroo’s interest had peaked at an alarming rate, eyes narrowed to mere slits. To that reply Sugawara stiffened, rising from his chair.

“We have some, but…”

“Show me. If I’m to help you in this investigation, I need to know, yeah?”

 Sugawara scoffed at the bold statement, wandering off to the cupboard where he’d retrieved the alcohol. A shunt here, some rattling bottles there and he was back, brandishing a large black box in his arms.

“The fuck is that?”

 Truly, Kuroo failed to grasp the notion of tact.

“It’s our evidence.”

 

 

“Do you want some more coffee?”

“No thank you.”

 Konoha paced about the kitchen, unaware at what point exactly their floor had become occupied by the remainder of the Cats group. Alas there was nothing he could do about it, besides remind Lev to keep the noise down, Fukunaga to shut the cutlery drawer for the fifth time in a row, and likewise warn Inuoka to avoid Saru’s studio at all costs. Heaven forbid there’d be a stray firework or traces of gunpowder left inside...

 Tora on the other hand had been locked in a staring competition with his coffee cup for the past five, maybe ten minutes. They weren’t idiots; it was obvious what Kuroo had gone to speak with Akaashi and Oikawa about. He only wished it wouldn’t come with any consequences.

“He’s a good person, he’ll understand.” Akane’s voice broke him from the haze, prompting a half-hearted smile to tug at the corner of his lips.

“Yeah, I know. Worried about Tooru and Keiji though.”

“They’re strong, like you.”

“Stronger.” Tora reckoned without a moment’s delay, causing Akane to purse her lips into a thin line. “I’ve got muscle sure, but I couldn’t do half of what they did back then. I didn’t sacrifice myself-”

“You couldn’t because of me.” Need she have to remind him of that anymore? Countless times she’d caught him lamenting, guilt-ridden over his lack of- well… everything. He couldn’t save anyone aboard the ship that day, couldn’t stop Akaashi or Oikawa from throwing themselves into those hellish ‘parties’, even now, two years on, he was powerless to save them from whatever nightmares they endured.

 On the flip side Bokuto instilled him with a great deal of faith, a fraction more so than the rest of the Owls, dare he say it. Something about the man was just… good. Loyal was probably the word Tora sought, assuming he gave two damns about his choice in vocabulary (which for the record, he didn’t). Either way, he trusted Bokuto to help his companions.

 “Don’t you think I feel just as bad...?” Akane murmured when the crowd had begun to engage in lively conversation, successfully isolating the siblings to carry on their own discussion.

“Hey, wait!” Before Tora could finish she was halfway out the door. “Akane don’t go!”

 It went without saying the Owls floor was immensely cluttered (and dark) compared to their own, Akane realising as much when she had to dart beneath a dangling chain with a startled gasp. “Go back to the others, I’ll be fine!”

“Sis please, don’t-” Tora refused, following until she turned on her heel to face him.

“ _You never think_!” An index finger jabbed close to Tora’s face, stopping him in his tracks.

“I know, sorta’.”

“It’s true.” Akane lowered her hand, slapping it to his arm wearily before it fell to rest by her side at last. “I wonder about those days too, just as much as you have. If _I_ hadn’t been there you _might_ have- no, you definitely would’ve been able to save people!”

“Nah, they’d have killed me for being a shit.”

“You-” Frustrated didn’t begin to cut it, Akane fizzling up with rage. “You’re so stupid!”

“Sure am.” Tora didn’t need telling twice, tugging the helpless soul into his arms for an overdue hug. “I’m sorry; I know it’s been rough for you too.”

 Apparently that wasn’t the answer Akane wanted to hear, her fingertip prodding into his back as a warning sign. “I’m still talking about you.”

“I don’t like talkin’ about me.”

“Have you ever tried thinking about who you are _now_?!” Her voice was rising in volume, eyes burning into Tora’s reluctant gaze. “True, we _both_ could’ve done more back then, but try and focus on all the good things you’ve achieved _here_!”

 Here… at the Roost? Well in that case Tora had accomplished a great deal, assuming feats of wrestling and hanging Noya from the upper balcony of the Hall counted. Or the time he’d put salt in Kuroo’s tea for being a dick, oh and not to mention his countless, successful escapes from an angry Yaku… That really _was_ worth bragging about.

“Brother, you’re imagining something ridiculous, aren’t you?”

“You got me.”

 Really, Akane wondered why she bothered. Actually that was a lie, she knew exactly why. Tora didn’t have a hope in hell of living without her, and vice versa.

“I’m surprised you’re still single.”

“Sis… not now _._ ”

 The giggle that left Akane’s lips promised pure mischief, though who was he to complain? “I’m sure we can find you somebody-”

“No. I’m more than happy to stay a free man.”

“Someone might come along and change that.” Delighted, Akane shrugged herself out of the embrace, her face brimming with anticipation that utterly contrasted Tora’s dismay. She had a terrible pattern of doing this, complimenting him endlessly before ranting and raving about why he had yet to find a suitable partner.

 In all fairness, her possessive nature was likely the main contributing factor to his single lifestyle, but again, that was another trait they shared, for better or worse…

“Ok right but what about you? I saw you getting friendly with Onaga back in the kitchen.”

“We were just talking!”

“’Course you were…” Tora jeered and ruffled a hand in her mass of untameable locks. “I know you like ‘em tall. And he’s pretty fucking big as far as guys go.”

“We’re friends.”

 With that in mind, there was the case of when Lev first greeted them… you can picture Tora’s horror at the chances he may or may not attempt to court his dearest, younger sibling.

“Pay attention!” Akane’s hands were on her hips, and her cheeks puffed up quite sweetly despite her obvious temper. “Honestly, I’m not a child anymore! I can decide who I want to speak with, and- you know, if I want to be with somebody its fine!”

“So you _do_ like him?”

“You’re completely missing the point!”

Well now, Tora might just have to start keeping a closer eye on the owl.

 

 

“Must be real important evidence, if you had to hide it in your booze stash.”

“Oh shh.” Sugawara rolled his eyes, nudging the box Kuroo’s way.

 The conversation had been lacking since the grand retelling of Akaashi and Oikawa’s background. Kuroo put that down to exhaustion on their part however, Akaashi in particular lagging as he leant against the nearby window frame, staring beyond the glass with Bokuto by his side. Oikawa on the other hand was gone, having dismissed himself to fetch them a hot (non-alcoholic) beverage from the kitchen. _To calm the nerves_ , he reasoned.

“Take a look then.”

“Right.” Kuroo complied as he shifted in his seat, flicking the clasps of the box open. Why, with the way Sugawara spoke it was as if he were unwrapping a present, not some suspicious case filled with hell knows what.

 Akaashi never so much as twitched when he heard the box lid creak and fall back on its hinge, but then he likely knew the contents of it far too well.

“Oh _fuck_.”

 Kuroo stilled his tongue fast, wedging it tight in the pocket of his cheek for good measure. There upon a bundle of papers he found the dreaded blade itself, his alarmed, overblown eyes reflected on the metal between splatters of crusted blood.

“How on earth did you get a hold of this…?”

 Forever precautious, Sugawara gestured to Akaashi with his head. “He refused to let go of it, even when we brought him here. It took one of the boys from the Owls to pry it out of his hands eventually.”

“Ah… It’s helpful that he did though.”

“True. They each-”

“Oi,” Bokuto piped up with a scowl, “He’s still in the room, you realise?”

 Akaashi quietened his protests with a considerable level of calm, lacing their fingers together in a tender fashion. “Let them continue.”

“Thank you,” Sugawara appreciated the assistance, his attention drifting to Kuroo and the knife. “As I was saying, all of the guests owned one of these.”

“Why?”

“To signify their membership. The gatherings were meetings of sorts, for those who held a sick fascination with our people, fetishes, the occult, you name it…” When Kuroo refused to add his opinions on the matter Sugawara pushed on, carefully lifting the knife out of the container. “The knife is personalised, initials are on the handle.”

 _E.W_ it read, not that it bore any real significance at that precise moment.

“Got a name to go with this?”

“Of course not, if we knew that much we wouldn’t be calling him ‘the man’.”

 “Oh yeah.” Good thing they weren’t keeping count how many stupid remarks Kuroo had made the past few hours…

 Subsequent to that minor slip up, Sugawara wisely concluded it best to move the conversation on, placing the knife down upon the table before reaching into the box for the papers. “What we _do_ have however is his face. Oikawa was able to identify him in a photograph we’d found during later investigations.”

“And anything to go with it?”

“Nope, not a clue. He’s pictured with a mixture of people, including the owner of the mansion; we can’t say for sure who any of them are. It’s almost useless to us.”

 Hence the entire case had been hitting a wall over and over, Kuroo established via a groan. “So you’ve got some initials, a photo and a suspicion he could be in Vol? Not a whole lot to go on at all… no wonder you’ve been unable to approach the police with this.”

“You’re forgetting the fact that he may indeed be dead.” Trust Sugawara to bring the mood down further. “In which case, the law will have every right to punish Akaashi. That’s why it’s dangerous to have him leave the premises.”

“And yet you put him on display in the shows…?” Finally, Kuroo was the one on top. The one asserting the most valuable points.

“Y-Yes, well… about that-”

“I’m going to check on Tooru.” Akaashi said, releasing Bokuto’s hand in order to take his leave. That rendered the owl more or less alone; hopelessly watching all the while Kuroo and Sugawara bickered regarding the Roost’s methods.

“It’s stupid; you’re putting him in so much danger!”

“ _We know_!”

 Bokuto didn’t care much for their argument, his eyes drifting elsewhere. Across the floor, the expanse of the papered walls… anywhere would do. The table, the box, the knife-

The _knife._

 It had to be a mistake, a catch of the light.

“You say only the members had those…?”

 No answer came, the pair too engrossed within their debate to give him the time of day.

“O-Oi…”

 Bokuto’s feet felt like weights when he trod over to the table, convinced the floorboards might splinter under the pressure. His eyes were trained upon the handle of the weapon, fingertips tracing every groove and curve.

“E.W.”

 

_“I had to have a replica made.”_

 

 His head tossed side to side with eyes scrunched tight. It wasn’t time to think about that, about his past experiences.

… Or was it?

 

_“It’s not half as impressive as the original, but it’ll do the trick.”_

“Hey Bo.” A voice trailed in the distance, Kuroo’s presumably. “You alright?”

 No, he was anything but, and those doubts overwhelmed him when his attention moved to the photograph next.

 True to Sugawara’s words it _was_ useless, depicting a huddle of middle aged men with tense, revolting expressions; of course there was something terribly amiss…

“W.” Bokuto chanted under his breath, scanning the rows of faces with a single fingertip until he settled upon one. The very notion, the most ludicrous thought floating about his head right then had his skin prickling with an unfamiliar chill, and his insides constricting.

“Webb.”

 Kuroo’s head couldn’t tilt more if he tried, brows furrowed in question. “Web?  The fuck you on about?”

 Perhaps he’d gone mad, and by all means it was plausible, Bokuto conceded. He was tired, and the abrupt announcement of Akaashi’s background hadn’t helped his woes in the slightest.

“No. H-He’s not…”

“Who’s not _what_?” Kuro’s worries grew, unaccustomed to seeing Bokuto so serious, albeit terrified.

 Unfortunately the longer Bokuto contemplated the matter, and everything they knew up until this point… the more it clicked into place. Piece by horrible piece.

 

“… He’s not dead.”

 

“You lot still banging on about that shit?” With apt timing Oikawa had returned brandishing cups of coffee and tea, Akaashi not far behind. “We get it; you believe Akaashi didn’t kill him. We _all_ do-”

“ _I mean it!!”_ The rise in pitch threw Bokuto off when he heard his own voice, forcing him to swallow. “He’s really not dead!”

“ _Prove it_!”

 “Bo, _please_ …” Kuroo had had enough, and his sentiments were completely shared by a shattered Sugawara. “We don’t have time to play around. You need sleep, c’mon-”

“Ernst Webb. That’s his name.” Bokuto couldn’t be more certain of that fact, clenching a shaky fist.

Sugawara froze. “How do you know… _?_ ”

“… He’s my old boss. The one who sacked me last month and-”

“Gave you that injury on your back.” Akaashi finished, his frightened, wild stare meeting Bokuto’s.

“Yeah.” The owl seized the photograph, pinpointing the culprit. “But it makes perfect sense! The knife is the same, initials match; he hates easterners more than anything-!”

“It could be someone else.”

“No it _has_ to be him.” Bokuto cleared his throat, body meanwhile betraying the urge to remain strong by wracking with anxiety. “During my punishment he kept rambling on and on about how much he hated us all, said he’d kill us if he could-”

“Why?” Sugawara aimed to hear him out, casting a frantic glimpse in Akaashi’s direction.

“Because a while ago one of us, _our_ people, struck him with a weapon and it-”A hand clamped over Bokuto’s mouth, urging the torrent of imagery before his eyes to subside, for that man’s voice to leave his head and _fuck_ , just give him some peace already. “He’s got a scar across his face from where it sliced right thr-”

“Breathe.”

 It was sheer irony that the word left Akaashi’s lips, after which he himself took a mighty gulp of air. His fingers were fumbling and knotting together, the habit bringing Kuroo to hastily clasp his own hands tight, fretting endlessly for the pair.

 Two years was a long time to justify a vague memory. To convince yourself that no, you didn’t- you _wouldn’t_ kill anyone. So to have the truth would come from him, of all people... The very person who had sent Akaashi’s emotions sky high from the start, driven him to madness, and caused him to drink to such a stupor that he fell off a goddamn stool… that went beyond absurd.

But then, everything happens for a reason, as Daichi often preached.

“Thank you.”

 

 


	16. Leather

“My, what an interesting change of events...”

“Mhm.”

 Konoha surrendered at last with a hefty sigh. That was the eighth ‘mhm’ Washio had voiced during their exchange the past couple of minutes, and one could only assume that a) the man gave no damn about the topic at hand, or b) held an incredible lack of conversation skills.

 For Washio it was often the latter, but by all means there were times when even he could no longer stomach a particular subject, at which point he’d have to distract Konoha in an attempt to silence him.

 Speaking of distractions, despite midday fast approaching, Washio remained tucked up in bed with a newspaper, his stare so fixated upon an article that Konoha feared the poor tabloid would burn under the searing pressure. What’s more he lacked a shirt, and whilst Konoha found it an easy feat to dress himself, to ask the same of his partner had proven… difficult, to say the least.

“Are you going to give me a reply besides ‘mhm’?” He protested with hands upon his hips.

“I might do.” Washio was teasing, obviously, the slight twitch at the corner of his mouth implying as much.

“You-” No, why was Konoha even trying to argue this. “Give that here.”

 In a swift manoeuvre he was on the bed, snatching the publication from Washio’s grasp only to huff no sooner had he spied the date.

“This is _yesterday’s_ paper! Are you honestly ignoring me for old news?”

“I haven’t read it yet, therefore it’s still new.”

 Konoha didn’t want to hear it, literally tossing his cares and the paper aside with a flick of his wrist, overlooking the fluttering of sheets falling somewhere behind him. “There, now you can focus on me.”

“I like to think I give you plenty of attention.” Washio said via a kind smile, nestling into the pillows while Konoha straddled his waist (wherever it was beneath the bedsheets).

“Yes but this is a very important discussion, Bokuto and Akaashi have made a massive leap in their relationship and all you’ve done is grunt like some animal!”

“Have not.”

“Have too.” When a hand reached the back of Konoha’s neck he took the sign to move in close, reaping the benefits of Washio’s generous chest by using it as a makeshift pillow of sorts. “Anyway… I just hope they’re alright.”

“Of course they are. Akaashi looked better than ever, in my opinion.”

“That was still a lot to take in at once, caught me completely by surprise.”

“Same here.” Washio murmured, eyes drifting upwards to the ceiling in thought. “I’m relieved Akaashi is innocent after all this time, but…”

“The fact that the man he supposedly killed still lives is an issue, I know.” Konoha finished, shuffling about to get comfortable. “Even so, we should count ourselves lucky Bokuto showed up. We’d be clueless without him.”

“True.”

 That was the best he’d be getting out of Washio anytime soon, Konoha resigned during a moment’s peace when the room drew to silence. Sure enough the calm was pleasant, considering the usual chaos of the Roost, but it went without saying the pair felt it was somewhat premature.

“Konoha?”

“One minute.” The man in question interrupted, steadily kissing his way up Washio’s neck. He liked to believe he had his priorities right, lips soon tracing over the strong jaw-line despite obvious protests and mutterings of whatever his partner wished to discuss.

 Apparently there came a time when even Konoha grew tired of conversation, placing a hand over Washio’s eyes in silent command that no, they were not going to ramble on about the Roost and it’s multitude of issues. Too many hours had been lost to such talk, and what good ever came of it?

“Akinori-”

“What is it?” Konoha’s voice drew to a near-whisper, delighting in the sharp intake of air sounded when fingertips ghosted over the skin of Washio’s hip, travelling downwards at a teasing pace.

“I’m being serious here…”

“I know.” A simple, tender kiss followed. Konoha’s fingers opted to follow the trail of a scar upon his abdomen next, their movements forming a wordless apology. In turn Washio’s hand reached the small of Konoha’s back, ushering the thin fabric of his shirt upwards.

“Are you happy?”

 Konoha paused when he felt Washio’s brow crinkle beneath the palm of his hand. He was frowning, no doubt.

“Why d’you ask?”

“Because you never really talk about it, avoid it even.”

“Says the man who barely speaks unless we’re alone like this.” Konoha laughed adrift a sigh, pressing their lips together in a passing kiss. “I am happy though. Happier than I’ve been.”

“You’re still worrying over us… aren’t you?”

 What a ridiculous question... how could he not be worried for them? One moment they’re in danger, next they’re supposedly safe… It was far too much, too soon, in all honesty.

 Rather than let the obvious reply be heard, Konoha gently removed his hand, mirroring Washio’s piercing stare with his own.

“You know the answer to that.”

That he did.

“Alright.” Washio pronounced via a clearing of his throat, taking this opportunity to cup a large hand to the other’s rear and thoroughly deter him from their meaningful discussion.

“Oi! What’re you-”

“No need to waste time talking about that sort of thing. The door’s locked and the only people likely to interrupt us are currently in the Dome.” Washio stated matter-of-factly, causing Konoha to hang his head and make a mental reminder to work on those skills in romancing.

“Honestly…”

“What?” Washio on the other hand saw no problem, his eyes unusually big and questioning Konoha’s abrupt lack of interest. “You don’t want to?”

“Yes but… It’s sex, not a military regime. Be a bit more persuasive, enticing… you know?”

“Oh, right.” That made perfect sense, Washio concluded with a nod. “I’ll make sure to say ‘please’ next time.”

“ _Tatsuki-”_

“That was a joke.”

“Your sense of humour’s just as terrible.” Konoha complained, unable to resist the smile tugging at the corners of his lips however. “We’ll have to sort that out too.”

 

 

“Not to be rude but… what the hell are you two doing here?”

 Blunt as ever, Komi spoke from high up in the safety net, peering over the edge at Bokuto and Akaashi when they approached the stage. “Konoha ordered you both to get some rest, come back later for the evening practice.”

“We had plenty of sleep, thank you.” Akaashi responded plainly, “That’s why we thought we’d come see how things are doing.”

“Eh…” Komi hopped about on the net causing it to dip under his weight, signalling to a nearby crowd with a jerk of his head, “Things would be going a lot faster if we could drag Mr. Popular from his fans.”

“Ah, that’d be Washi-… wait, is that Onaga?” Bokuto probed, leaning round Akaashi to spot the tallest owl all too easily amongst the huddle of girls (and some guys) from various groups. “What’s going on?”

“He made a good impression on some of the ladies last night… he’s a nice guy, you know? They adored him. I guess they got talkin’ and here they all are.”

“Huh…”

 Bokuto would have thought the man lucky, were it not for his own sudden fortune; he noted fondly when Akaashi gave his hand a gentle squeeze.

“We should leave him be.” Akaashi proposed, Komi agreeing via a huff.

“I gotta’ know how he does it, though… D’you think it might be a height thing?”

“No, I dou-”

“I didn’t think you cared about that sort of thing.” Bokuto interjected, earning a laugh in response.

“You’re right, I don’t. To be honest I think the attention would piss me off. As long as I can be with the people I care about, the people who like me for who I am, not much else matters.” With that Komi sent them a knowing smile, “You guys understand, right?”

 Of course they did, more so than ever as of last night.

 Subsequent to Bokuto’s admission, the pair was forced to endure an interrogation from Daichi, who had been summoned by his partner to help take note of any key details Bokuto could provide. Time rolled on at a gruelling pace all the while, and sometime in the unearthly hours they were permitted to leave, after which the two owls desired nothing more than to curl up and sleep, retiring to Akaashi’s room shortly after.

“So are you guys a couple now?”

 The very notion seemed bizarre to them still, both Akaashi and Bokuto stumbling on their words before Bokuto shook his head up and down vigorously, causing his hair to fly about in the process. “We are, yeah.”

“Good. I’d be surprised if you weren’t.” Komi informed, his back turned on them as he lifted his gaze to the network of pipes across the ceiling. To the unknowing spectator he would appear utterly disinterested in their conversation, eyes half lidded and the corners of his mouth tugged downwards. Then again, perhaps talk of love really wasn’t his thing…

 With all due respect he had never been prone to discussing himself, a common trait amongst the Owl group in Bokuto’s opinion. (But then who was he to criticise…?)

“Have you got any advice for us?”

“Advice?”

 Bokuto nodded with a grin, unfazed by the bewildered stares shot back at him. “About relationships and stuff, you and Saru must’ve been together a while, yeah?”

“I guess… if six years counts as a while.” Came the mumbled reply, Komi reaching a hand up to scratch his head.

“ _Six?!_ ” Bokuto clapped a hand over his mouth when his volume drew the attention of the crowd across the room. “S-Sorry... That’s pretty amazing.”

“Indeed.” The awe was shared by a slowly blinking Akaashi, “There must be a secret to it…”

 Twice Komi had cleared his throat in a matter of seconds, wary eyes darting about the Dome and barely acknowledging the two below. “Don’t be stupid, it’s not that impressive. I mean we’re just- you know, shit happens, before we know it six years has gone by.”

“Hang on…”

“Hm?”

 Bokuto took to gaping at his outstretched palm next, no doubt counting on his fingers, “You came to the Roost four years ago… meaning you started a relationship back in the factory?”

“Yeah, what about it?”

 The glum undertone to Komi’s voice failed to go amiss, prompting Akaashi to give Bokuto a precautionary nudge in his side. It was ridiculously easy to offend people in the Roost, and Komi was no exception to that fact.

“I… kinda’ find it difficult to imagine, after working in one of those places myself. Didn’t get a chance to meet people, let alone get to know someone that closely.”

 That much made sense, Komi accepted before climbing down from the safety net. “We told you before, we worked together.”

 His words were accompanied by a thump as he made himself comfortable in one of the front row seats, and out of habit he began to feel at the dent in his earlobe with a thumb and forefinger. “After annoying the guards Saru was kept alone, and I only met him when I wound up in trouble myself. I guess they thought it’d be easier to watch us if we worked in a pair.”

“I bet you got along from the start.”

“Sorta’.” Komi let a ripple of laughter slip, rolling his head back to stare skywards. “We had our differences like anybody else, but we shared a hate for our bosses and that was a good conversation starter. It helped we were around the same age too. Saru had just turned eighteen the month before he started his job there.”

“Right.” Bokuto didn’t mean to come across as indifferent, but… this wasn’t the information he was after. “But how did you actually end up _together_?”

“I dunno’, we just did!” Komi whined whilst sliding further down the seat. “I mean… Neither of us expected it, hell- no sane person would start a relationship in a shithole like that, especially one between two guys! But still, you know…”

 Having read the unstable mood Akaashi took the cue to intervene, offering a reassuring smile. “It’s alright, we understand.”

“I don-” Bokuto’s reply was torn from his mouth by Akaashi’s familiar glare. “I-I mean… um…”

 In contrast Komi had calmed himself, gazing over to the crowd once more. “I don’t really like people that much, as childish as it sounds. You guys are an exception, obviously, but most others just piss me off. Either they’re too loud… demanding… or cling to you needing help constantly.”

“I can’t help but agree.” Akaashi confirmed, taking a seat beside their friend. “But even so there are those who enjoy your company. The fire performers wanted you in their group, no?”

“Yeah, I like ‘em. Some of the Cats and the Plants are fun too, but there’s others I just don’t bother speaking to.”

“Which is perfectly reasonable.” Akaashi added, Komi arching a brow his way.

“Sure, I guess. Point is I wasn’t all that popular even amongst our kind in the factory, so Saru was a bit of a surprise.”

“Oh?”

 Something about the memory had Komi breaking into a smile and moving his head from side to side. “He’d go out of his way to make sure I wasn’t alone, stalked me basically. Always asked if I was ok and pestered me if I wasn’t, real nagging prick to be honest.”

“That does sound like something he’d do.” Bokuto admitted, settling down on the other side of Komi.

“Doesn’t it? There’d be times when I’m trying to sleep in the bunker we shared and he’d be staring like some weirdo because he knew it’d get my attention. Even during the day when we were supposed to be working he’d go and hide the tools I was using because he thought it was funny.”

 “Not the smartest idea, considering your temper at times.” Akaashi stated, apparently caring little for his own safety in the process. “Knowing you, you probably threatened him in return.”

 Something along the lines of an awkward laugh left Komi’s lips. “I mighta’ done. Anyway, it made me mad, yeah, but when I thought about it, being by myself was boring so I let him carry on. Next thing I know we’re huddled up one winter’s night talking about love like the awkward teenagers we were.” To that Komi gave a shrug, “And it just happened from there.”

“How romantic.” Bokuto jeered, smirking when Akaashi choked on a laugh as well. Their companion was less than impressed however, folding his arms with eyebrows raised.

“Oh because you two are such a model couple, right? You spent the first fortnight at each other’s throats or sulking when we asked you to stay in the same room, then a few weeks later a whole ton of drama unfolds and you’re inseparable!” His remark successfully silenced the pair, Komi grinning wide momentarily. “I kid, as long as you’re both getting along I couldn’t care less what you’re doing.”

 That was his way of showing approval, presumably.

 Be that as it may, Komi had a wonderful talent for shutting an argument down with such ferocity that any further conversation proved awkward.

“Ok, well...”

“Am I in your way?” Komi positively beamed now, looking to each individual in turn. “Of course it’s your damn own fault, you both sat either side of me, yet here I am playing the awkward third person in the relationship. Wait, that only works if you’re single right? Or do you- no… I’m not sure.”

“You’re making no sense.” Sarukui quipped from the row behind, causing his partner to curse and throw a fist back on instinct when he rose and turned about in his seat. Akaashi and Bokuto likewise jolted on the spot, none of them remotely aware just when their newest arrival had joined the talk.

“How long have you been there goddamn-!! No, put me _down_ you shit!” Komi thrashed about in Sarukui’s arms when he moved to lift him out of his seat, only half reluctant to enjoy the hold. “Fuckin’ hate you sometimes.”

“Love you too, my tiny bundle of rage. Now watch your language, we have company.”

“ _I_ had company.” Komi pressed, jabbing his index finger to Sarukui’s cheek for effect once he was set back down on his feet. “You’re the one who showed up out of nowhere and interrupted us.”

“Then carry on.” Sarukui replied in earnest, blinking at their audience. “I only heard something about Bo and Akaashi being a great couple or whatever.”

“Oh…”

 Gradually Komi’s eyes wandered back to the pair still seated on the front row, then to Sarukui. “Then there’s no need, we’re done here.”

“Huh? But you sai-”

“He was telling us about how you guys got together in the factory.” Bokuto piped up, naturally, ignoring the groan Komi sounded as a result.

“Really?”

 Before Sarukui could so much as express his interest, Komi interrupted with a roll of his eyes, “Yeah talkin’ about how annoying you were.”

“You don’t mean that.” Sarukui chimed, “You’d have been bored if I wasn’t there to wind you up.”

“Would not.”

“He would’ve been miserable, Komi confessed as much earlier.” Akaashi chipped in, finding no benefit to holding back now that the initial damage had been done. “He was very honest about his feelings towards you.”

“Akaashi!!”

 That was all the encouragement Sarukui required, lips tweaking into a genuine smile as he made to hug his partner. “We were pretty cute back then.”

 “Oh shh.” Komi protested weakly, his stern front cracking as he eventually made to return the embrace. “Anyway, where’ve you been?”

 As expected Sarukui gestured to the cluster of people still huddled over the other side of the room, “Been trying to get Onaga out of there, but he seems happy so I left him to it. Though speaking of which-”

“I already asked why they’re here.” The words left Komi’s mouth in an instant, Bokuto and Akaashi looking to one another in the meantime. “They say they’ve rested enough.”

“Oh, in which case feel free to stick around.” Sarukui spoke up, breaking from the hold to take Komi's hand in his own. “I’ll be taking this one with me for a bit.”

“Okay!”

 Pleasant exchanges complete Bokuto waved the pair off, observing their departure whilst sporting a warm smile. “… Man, they’re so devoted to their work.”

 Akaashi merely held his face in his hands to that comment, deeming Bokuto too daft, too innocent for his own good.

 

 

“You’re shaking.”

“Am I? I’m sure it’s just the chill in the air. Drafts seem to get in from everywhere.” Sugawara cast a hasty glance Daichi’s way as they stood in the centre of the Hall, their attention flickering to the main entrance now and then.

“We have a right to be nervous.” His partner addressed simply, providing enough reassurance for Sugawara to eventually nod in agreement and take Daichi’s hand when it was offered.

“I didn’t expect he’d respond to our message so soon, that’s all.”

“It’s an urgent situation.” Daichi finished, forcing down the lump in his throat with a gulp. The sensation did little to ease his worries, and quite frankly he’d rather swallow a bag of nails than endure the potential wrath awaiting them.

“Have we heard anything about the Plants yet?”

 Daichi could only give a sombre shake of his head. “They’re still out investigating the mansion I imagine.”

“But they’ve been gone for almost half a day-!”

“Excuse me...”

 The pair whipped their head back to the door when Futakuchi appeared. Far from his confident self he lingered on his words, eventually speaking up. “… He’s here.”

“Bring him in.” Daichi stammered, gripping Sugawara’s hand as if it were the only thing preventing his legs from caving in.

“Sure.”

 No sooner had Futakuchi retreated behind the door did it open with a great deal of force, revealing an elderly man wrapped tight in a thick wool coat and an expression as bitter as the weather outside.

“You could’ve picked a better day to meet!”

“Our apologies Ukai, s-sir!” Nerves gripped at Sugawara’s voice, straining it despite his efforts to remain composed. With each step the man took both he and Daichi drew tense, their anxieties crumbling fast however when Ukai burst in a hearty laughter.

“Drop the sir and stand up straight, I’m not here to kill you.”

“R-Right!”

 Upon complying Sugawara spied two more figures not far behind, encouraging Ukai to grunt and nod back at them. “I brought company. The blond mess there’s my grandson Keishin, and to his left my assistant Takeda. Thought they might be useful for our talk.”

“Oh?”

 Ukai granted their inquiry a brief dip of his head before signalling for a half-hidden Futakuchi to follow, “Come on, no need for you two to stand out in the cold all day. You can join us.”  

 Wordlessly Futakuchi looked to Daichi for answers, though he too proved equally bewildered. “Alright then, one sec.”

 Honestly Sugawara prayed it would be just that, trembling lightly from the breeze that had wafted in alongside their visitors.

“This is very nice.” Takeda spoke up, hands clasped behind his back as his head revolved to admire the scenery. “Did you do all this yourselves?”

“Not everything.” Daichi jumped in to explain, grateful that someone in Ukai’s crowd was a sociable sort. “Most of the interiors were here when we bought the place, we just had to get more furniture.”

“I see…” Even the simple act of Takeda’s smile brought them relief, “I can tell you’ve put a lot of love into your business.”

“Indeed, a point I’d like to discuss with you both further.” Ukai grumbled, pacing towards the balcony stairs when Aone and Futakuchi surfaced from round the door. Without another word the troupe obeyed, commanded by the man’s presence to the extent that _he_ might as well have been the owner of the Roost.

 Up they travelled the short distance to the office, Ukai all too aware of the location after a visit or two prior. Furthermore he entered the room with the same absence of conversation, plucking a couple of chairs from one side and setting them before the large desk. Somewhere during this process Daichi had attempted to assist him, but to no avail, a hand batting him back.

“I’m quite capable of moving some furniture, now go sit.”

“But-”

“Is your hearing bad?”

Well, that was that.

 

 It was a fairly cosy meeting, Sugawara and Daichi making themselves comfortable in the main chairs by the desk whilst Ukai, his assistant, Aone and Futakuchi settled themselves opposite. Ukai’s grandson in the meantime had taken the liberty of thrusting the far window open, fumbling in his pocket for a small box.

“Do you mind?”

“The smoking no, the window yes.” Sugawara droned, wrapping his arms snug about himself. “There’s no need to open it.”

“Suit yourself.” Keishin grunted, wedging a cigarette between his lips so he could haul the window shut again with both hands.

 “Kid smokes more than a factory.” Ukai warned in advance, but Daichi dismissed the matter with a humble laugh whilst he went to fetch them a drink. The humour, albeit brief, was sufficient enough to raise the mood and motivate most of the assembly to get comfy before Ukai commenced his speech.

“I’ve said it before, but you’re both mad.” He began, narrowed eyes observing when Daichi poured him a glass of some unknown spirit. “You shouldn’t be getting involved with such problems.”

“I know but- Oh, forgive me.” Sugawara paused when he spied Futakuchi’s stare growing wide, not necessarily out of shock, just utter confusion. “Aone, Futakuchi, I should properly introduce you. This gentlemen here is Ukai Ikkei, he’s been working with the Western police for several years now, and by all means he’s the best when it comes to handling investigations.”

“So you’re a detective?” Futakuchi probed, raising a brow, “Your name sounds familiar though…”

“I’m a retired soldier.” Ukai informed with a smile, “Seen enough fighting to last the rest of my lifetime, however long that may be.”

 Towards the end of his explanation he scoffed, manifesting a sense of unease that often occurred when elderly folk spoke lightly of their impending demise. “So what about you two, hm? You got some military background as well, considering your job in this place?”

“Ah-” Futakuchi withdrew in his seat, Aone eyeing him up in the process. “No… we used to work at the port just south of here. It wasn’t so bad, but we wound up in a lot of fights. People were a bit apprehensive around us.”

“I can imagine, especially looking at the size of you.” Ukai gestured to Aone now, his words laced with a certain level of kindness however. “I suppose it’s worked out for the best that you ended up here then.”

“Yeah.”

 Nobody could fault his logic, Ukai soon reaching for his glass and taking a swig from it. During the pause Daichi returned to his seat, clutching his own drink in clammy hands. “Well then, as you were saying… about us being involved in-”

“Right, right.” Ukai interrupted, setting the tumbler upon the desk with a mighty clack. “I had a look at your letter on the way here… and I can only wonder what exactly you plan to do about all this.”

“… That’s kind of why we contacted you.” Sugawara admitted, “We’re uncertain about- you know… _this._ ” With a hand he motioned to their surroundings, “I know you told us not to become attached but-”

“I thought as much.”

“I don’t understand… What are you saying exactly?” Futakuchi shot towards Daichi and Sugawara, “Didn’t you set the Roost up to help us? To give us Easterners a place to live?”

“They did, with my help.” Ukai deliberated, grabbing the glass and guzzling in one frantic manoeuvre. “Several years ago, before this place came to be, two little brats appeared rambling about the horrors they’d seen, the conditions us Easterners were forced to endure, how _wrong_ it all was.”

“But it is.”

 Ukai acknowledged that much. “Yes, but it’s a common problem, has been ever since our people begun doing business in the West. Many _adults_ have strived to resolve the issues and failed, so how do you think I felt when children burst into my office determined to change the world?”

 It really did sound mad when he put it so bluntly, Daichi and Sugawara inwardly confessed. True to Ukai’s words they were only eighteen at the time… young, but with enough money collectively to fund their goals, to an extent.

“Of course I couldn’t just leave ‘em.” Ukai resumed, smiling fondly in recollection, “I sat ‘em down, talked about their plans, and together we found this place. Although you were only supposed to live here and do investigation work.”

“Which we did, sort of… and still do.” Sugawara said, “But our money could only go so far, and it wasn’t right for us to keep asking you for assistance, so we brought more people along and started up the entertainment business.”

 So that’s what they called it, Ukai restrained the urge to jibe whilst rolling his eyes. “About that… are you really determined to see it through?”

“Of course, we’ve been performing for a couple of years now.” Both Daichi and Sugawara were gobsmacked by his interrogation, “We know it’s not how things were supposed to go, but everyone’s happy here, they’re earning money in a safe environment. How can that be a prob-”

“But they’re _not_ safe, and I highly doubt they’re all as happy as you believe.” Ukai concluded, noting Futakuchi’s grim expression. “Listen to me… are you completely serious about running this place alongside your investigation work? Answer truthfully.”

“We are.”

“This isn’t a game-”

“ _We know!”_ Hastily Daichi made to catch his breath, his resolve intact despite the rising tension of the room. “W-We know, honestly… A lot has gone wrong recently, but we know this is what we want to do. Hopefully when the case is settled we can finally get on with our lives, until then we expect problems to arise.”

“Kids…” Ukai exhaled, glancing back to his grandson on instinct. He was working his way through a second, maybe third cigarette, and displayed no intention of stopping anytime soon. “Fine, I just needed to hear it from you, because I got plans about that.”

“Oh?”

 There was something pitiful to their eyes, Ukai found when he looked to each owner in turn. Far too young to be shouldering such responsibilities, so many lives in fact, on top of their financial worries.

“I have a couple of friends who’d be happy to invest in the Roost.”

“Really?!”

 “Mm.” He bowed his head, “I’ve been speaking with them about this place, and they’re very keen to visit, see a show or two…”

 “You’re more than welcome to bring them to this week’s performance.” Daichi stumbled over his words through sheer elation, reminding himself to take a gasp of air afterwards. “Apologies it’s short notice, but we’d be happy to have them.”

“How much involvement will they have?” Sugawara challenged.

“Their goals are the same as ours, they want to help make a difference for our people. They’re not about to sell off the place and leave you kids homeless.” Ukai couldn’t press that point harder if his life depended on it, his frown relaxing meanwhile. “There’s only two of ‘em, Nekomata and Yamiji, who I live with in the north of Vol. Nekomata’s been a producer in the theatre industry for some time, so he’ll be useful if you want to expand to larger plays and such.”

“Of course he would be.” Futakuchi snorted, attempting to stifle his amusement when Ukai threw a cynical glance.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

 “He’s not being rude!” Daichi swiftly assured their superior, “It’s just an entertaining coincidence really. Our own production group works under the name of Cats.”

 “Really now… Then he can be their mentor, if you’d like?” Ukai proposed to an eager wave of nods and hums. “Tell me, what other rabbles have you got lurking in the establishment?”

“Well there’s the Crows, that’s a huge group.” They continued to explain, relieved when Ukai’s smile grew wide and he returned his attention to his grandson (assuming he was still visible in the cloud of smoke).

“Looks like I found you some kids to coach.”

 Keishin (referred to as such for convenience’s sake) was all too quick to voice his outrage however, brandishing his cigarette like a very tiny weapon.

 “No way, I’m not teaching a bunch of brats anything. I told you I’m not interested in that sort of thing anymore!”

 To deem the rest of the gathering confused would be putting it lightly, Sugawara raising both brows all the while his lips formed an ‘o’ shape.

“Excuse me, but… is he not in the same profession as you, Ukai?”

 It would have made sense if he were, or so they reasoned.

“Him? No. He used to help with the family business back home, but then came running West when his parents spoke of him settling down.” Ukai smirked and folded his arms, his laughter full to brim with life that resonated throughout the office. It was infectious, even. “He’s a good acrobat though, almost as skilled in that as he is smoking and drinking. I think he’d make a worthy leader for your little Crows.”

 Apparently any form of praise between the relatives was a rarity, judging by Keishin’s ludicrous expression. Gradually it shifted to something of pride, his chest puffing when he tucked the cigarette back between his lips. “Alright, alright. I’ll stick around and see what they can do.”

“I’ll be leaving Takeda in your care as well then.” Ukai gestured to the considerably quieter, responsible figure by his side. “He, on the other hand, has been working for my office the past few years, so he’s well aware of the main case you’re handling. He’ll be a good addition and a valuable contact point for us both.”

“I have no objections.” Takeda said, forever polite in his approach. Something about the approval had Keishin pause to observe his companion, as if he rather liked the idea as well.

 “What else have we got here?”

 Sugawara took a mouthful from his tumbler at last, predicting a long session ahead. “There’s the Plants group, the boys we sent to investigate the-”

“Ah... We’ll speak about them shortly.”

“Ok…?”

 He disregarded the response with a grunt, “Proceed.”

“There’s Aone and Futakuchi here of course, but group-wise it’s just the Owls.”

“I see.”

 When Ukai drew silent it felt right to be anxious, his eyes trained upon the glass now gripped tight in a hand. “I think Yamiji might be interested in them. He’s got a nice company set up the other side of the city, a small factory that deals in metalwork and the sort.”

 Sugawar sent his partner a wary glance. “With all due respect I don’t think the Owls would approve-”

“Another drink, please.” Ukai cut in.

“Oh, sure.” Daichi wasted no time in obliging his order.

 Whilst Sugawara urged to fill his partner with more confidence, to have him stand his ground, there was little benefit to refusing the elder man’s requests. “Ukai please, listen to us. I’m sure he’s a decent person but if they found out about his profession then-”

“Let me make this clear to you. If he had the same work ethics as half the shitty bastards in this city I wouldn’t hesitate to have him locked up and his business shut down. There _are_ good factory owners out there, it’s just a shame they’re greatly outweighed by the bad.”

 Any subsequent persuasion appeared futile, the group drawing to a hush when Ukai sipped at his drink.

 

“That brings me to our next topic… Keishin?”

“I got it.” Keishin stubbed out the end of his cigarette then retrieved a large bag sat by his feet, bringing it over to the desk.

“Thank you.”

Half, if not the vast majority of Sugawara’s being dreaded the possible contents of the bag in question, awaiting patiently as Ukai bent down to rummage inside. “Now then, saying you want to continue the entertainment business is one thing, but… I have concerns over your members.”

 “They could always be better, we admit.” Daichi started, wisely assuming that wasn’t the issue Ukai meant. “Are we referring to the ones connected to the case?”

 Ukai didn’t answer at first, eyeing the pair as he retrieved a notebook and pencil. “Let’s start with the 1898 victims, where are they situated in the Roost? Did they stay together or?”

“No, the Yamamotos went to the Cats, Oikawa to Plants and Akaashi the Owls.”

 The office was largely devoid of noise, bar the manic scratching of the pencil to paper and Ukai’s occasional grumbling.

“The last one’s your potential killer, yes?”

 At last, Sugawara was hoping they’d come to this. “No, actually. As of last night we discovered the man he presumably murdered is still alive and-”

 Ukai’s cold, discerning glare was enough to render them speechless.

“ _Says who?_ ”

“I-It’s hard to explain, we can barely believe it ourselves-”

“Start trying then.” Evidently Ukai had grown tired of messing about when it came to work, “I need solid evidence, not months of ‘what if’ and impossible scenarios.”

“We have a witness account-”

“As do I, plenty of people recall the fire in the mansion that night.”

“But this one knows about the man!” Sugawara pleaded, managing to still Ukai’s tongue for a second. “We recently took two new members into the Roost, a writer and a factory worker. The worker recognised the man in the photo immediately, as well as the knife we’ve assumed to be the murder weapon until this point. He’s still alive and you can find him yourself over in Morne!”

 “… That’s not too far from here, if I recall correctly.” Ukai muttered after a gruelling period of quiet, his pencil back to furiously scrawling across the paper. “I’ll be needing to speak to this witness of yours. Where can I find him?”

“Owls.” The word left Daichi’s mouth with a taste of shame, and likewise caused a bitter scowl to spread itself across Ukai’s features.

“Figures. Suppose it’s convenient, penning the troublesome ones in the same group…”

 They refused to comment on the matter, which proved a better time than any for Ukai to reach inside the bag once more, brandishing a slim file. “That reminds me, I have the paperwork you needed for the investigations.”

“Excuse me?”

 Ukai slid the documents across the desk. “May I remind you it’s illegal to be entering crime sites without the authority of the police?”

“Ah…”

Oh dear, they might have overlooked that tiny, ever so slightly significant detail.

“Fortunately for you there’s some people in this building who have common sense.” Ukai proceeded to explain, the corner of his lips pinched into a half smile. “That Iwaizumi kid marched his group up to my office late last night to request permission to enter the properties. Normally we’d decline, but what with the drama going on as of late it was authorised almost immediately.”

 Thank goodness for Iwaizumi, the occupants of the Roost agreed with a great sense of relief.

“To put your minds at ease, the boys are perfectly safe. They’re at my home with Nekomata and Yamiji as we speak. Thought they could do with a rest.”

 “Oh, well that’s good to hear.” Sugawara initiated. Somewhere deep down he couldn’t shake the unease wracking his body however, and the furrowing of Ukai’s brows failed to reassure him otherwise.

“As far as you two are concerned… all I can say is you’ve been making a big mistake. I’m only grateful the Plants lot figured things out for themselves.”

“Sorry?” Sugawara blinked as if he’d been struck across the face.

“… They filed two requests.” Daichi expelled the words amidst a laboured breath, handing the papers to his partner. “Iwaizumi took most of the Plants to the mansion, whereas Matsukawa and Hanamaki went to Stoker’s factory.”

“ _Why?!”_

“We both know the answer to that.” Daichi spoke through another sigh, returning his focus to Ukai. “Though I imagine it’s related to this supposed mistake we’ve made?”

“Of course it does, you idiots!” Ukai sat upright in his seat, his voice wielding more authority than his spectators thought imaginable. “You’ve been so obsessed with figuring out what happened two years ago to realise you’ve been housing criminals for even longer!”

“ _What-”_

 Daichi was certain all the brains in the room combined couldn’t describe their astonishment regarding Ukai’s wild accusations. “Wait… What criminals?!”

“No! We’re not discussing this!” Sugawara snapped abruptly, hunching over the desk with hands clapped tight either side of his head. “That incident is over, long gone-!”

“You know it’s not!” Ukai warned, his eyes drifting across the room to note the fearful reactions from Aone and Futakuchi. “Allow me to explain, at least.”

“You should’ve declined the second request.” Sugawara spat, his posture tensing up when Daichi placed a hand upon his back to hush him.

 Cautiously now Ukai hauled a hefty bound book from the bag, its pages falling apart at the spine from age.

“I would have done, were it not for the article concerning Stoker a short while back.” A trace of regret, guilt perhaps laced the tone of Ukai’s speech. “You’ve never spoken much about the three who came from his factory so I overlooked it, but after last night’s findings I’m afraid to say this is probably more important than the main case we’ve been handling.”

“And why’s that?”

“Contracts.”

 Needless to say, Ukai’s point had become clear.

“The majority of companies swear by ‘em, Stoker’s no exception.” He continued, deeming it better to relay the information fast than trouble the exhausted pair further. “The two boys from the Plants group searched around his office last night and discovered where he keeps all the workers’ contracts.”

“And…?”

“The ones your three little owls signed are missing. They were either destroyed when they ran away four years ago, or they’re being kept elsewhere… I would strongly predict the latter if I were you.”

 Sugawara lifted his gaze from the desk. “So what does this mean for us? For them?”

“To put it simply, it means they’re still bound to Stoker’s company. By running away they’ve gone against their contract, and according to the law he has every right to remove them from this property and punish them for doing so, provided he knows they’re here.”

“Which he doesn’t.” Daichi informed, Ukai accepting his response with a humble nod.

“You should count yourselves lucky in that respect. What’s more his company is being made to close. If things proceed as they are, their contracts will automatically expire along with his business, and you’ll be fine.”

“Then what’re we so worried about?”

“Hmm?”

 The interruption came from a curious Futakuchi. “If his company falls, and their contracts mean nothing, he’ll no longer have the right to hurt them, yeah? If that’s the case, I don’t see the need to get so worked up anymore.”

“But that’s not all we found,” Ukai replied, slipping a hand into his coat pocket to locate a wad of folded brown leather. In mere seconds he unravelled the material, producing an all too familiar knife.

“This has got to be a joke.” Sugawara cried, head in his hands once more.

“It’s not. We already speculated it to be the case, but Stoker, and the man we thought dead the last two years are a part of the same group.” Nothing the elder man said could bring them hope after that revelation, his eyes slowly drifting to the book next. “We know the club has several interests concerning Easterners. For example, most of them enjoy the people from a sexual approach. Others are envious of our abilities and the profits we bring culturally, and have captured unfortunate merchants so as to reap the benefits of selling their goods… This man however is quite simply a maniac.”

 “I think Sarukui’s scars are a good indication of that.” Daichi groaned, rubbing his face with a palm. It served to be a minor distraction from the book Ukai appeared hell bent on displaying next, his fingers tracing over the first few pages.

“It gets worse.”

 Of course it would.

 

 Ukai was a sturdy character, and his grandson undoubtedly inherited such traits when he continued to stare out the window, unfazed by the drama surrounding the desk. Perhaps he was accustomed to the grim duties his grandfather undertook as part of his profession, or maybe he purely wished to detach himself altogether and retain some of his sanity.

“This is the record book for punishments in the factory, quite well worn as you can see.” Whether or not that was supposed to be a joke Ukai paused for effect, gazing to Daichi and Sugawara expectantly when he turned another page. “It starts off tame. There’s no reason why misconduct should go ignored after all.”

“Then what?” Daichi murmured, grasping one of Sugawara’s hands in his own.

 The narrowed stare he received spoke volumes. “Did you ever ask the kid himself how he was disciplined?”

 “Why on earth would we do that?” Sugawara felt his innards begin to rile up in disgust, watching as Ukai thumbed at the paper absent-mindedly, “… From what we know he was flogged. That’s it.”

“Wrong. With that many open wounds it would’ve killed him, if not damaged his organs.” It was beyond them as to why Ukai chose divulge further on the gory details. “As I suspected, he’s been lying to you about his punishment.”

“Then tell us what really happened.” Daichi pressed, his own focus lowered to the desk with a fierce intensity. Thankfully Ukai granted his appeal without delay, unfolding a single slip of paper tucked in the book accompanied by a couple of photographs, the second of which Takeda swiftly leapt in to cover with a hand.

“Sir, there are limits. You saw how the two boys from the Plants group responded when they found out.”

“They need to know.”

“Yes, but-”

“Found out _what_?” Sugawara probed, taken aback when Ukai whipped the photographs out from beneath Takeda’s hand and scattered them across the desk.

 “Stoker was using him as a test subject. This document here contains the accompanying doctor’s notes.”

 No amount of willpower could pry their eyes away from the images portraying various stages of the doctor’s work. In what one could supposedly call true Sarukui style he had ruined the first image by subtly sticking his middle finger up, despite being strapped to some table and machinery of sorts.

“He wasn’t completely lying about the flogging though, that came first.” Ukai cited from the doctor’s paper, tapping a fingertip to the timings scribbled in the leftmost column. “They used a fairly simple whip, probably a cattle one. Provided the user knows how to wield it, you can create substantial pain without breaking the skin, therefore avoiding serious internal damage or prematurely killing the patient.”

 Futakuchi was riddled in disbelief, his mind numb whilst the information sank in, “The fuck is that thing he’s hooked up to…?”

“A mechanism used for electrocution therapy.”

“For _what?!_ ”

  The crowd could only admire Ukai’s professional attitude all the while he scanned the notes, his features barely twitching as he made to detail further, “There’s been a few theories that electrocuting a patient can cure mental illnesses, but-”

“Isn’t it counter-productive to test the method on a subject who isn’t suffering any form of such?” Daichi inquired with a glare honed upon the photographs. “If anything I think that’d _turn_ someone mad, not cure them.”

“And that’s precisely what they wanted.” Another pensive breath, and Ukai proceeded with the account. “The doctor in question works for one of the largest private asylums in the city, and throughout the discipline process he focused on the kid’s mental health most of all. I’d wager Stoker wanted him broken enough to be classified as insane, at which point the doctor could take him to an institute.”

“That’s a lot of effort to go through, though... If he wanted Saru gone he should’ve sacked him.”

 The naivety of Sugawara’s statement met with a shattered sigh from Ukai. “You don’t know much about asylums, do you…? Those places are no better than prisons, torturing helpless people with inhumane methods that will supposedly make them better. Very rarely do the patients ever leave once admitted, so it’s the perfect place to send someone you dislike.”

“That still sounds too obvious, won’t the law pick up on something like that?”

 Ukai refrained the mighty urge to lob his pencil, or perhaps one of the owners, upon hearing such a ridiculous question. He’d thrown Keishin many a time before, so no doubt he could manage Daichi or Sugawara if they pushed their luck. Why, if he were really up to it maybe Aone was a feasible target, but then the poor soul had done nothing wrong up until this point, and therefore deserved no such treatment.

 “Money talks in a society like this. Politicians, nobility… we’ve received plenty of cases wherein their wives or family members have suddenly turned mad and been sent away to an asylum. It’s suspicious beyond belief, but for some reason the government doesn’t act on it. No doubt they’ve been paid quite a handsome sum to keep quiet and let the incidents slide.”

 “What a sneaky bastard,” Futakuchi scowled, examining the photographs over and over, “So what he’s done to Saru here would be overlooked if he handed over the right amount?”

“Pretty much,” Ukai rolled his shoulders back in their sockets before referring to the book yet again, this time highlighting the two pages after Sarukui’s records. They were blank, save for Komi and Washio’s names written at the top left had corner of each side. “Stoker had it all planned out: after the first kid was sorted, he was going to do the exact same to the other two. Of course, there is _one_ thing I imagine complicated the scenario, a stupid mistake on that bastard’s part… Take a look at the pictures again and tell me what you think.”

 “Saru was tortured, what else do we need to say?” Sugawara’s tone grew shaky, unable to offer his undivided attention to the photographs. “You can see he lost a lot of blood, that he was injured repeatedly-”

 “S’ his expression.” Aone, to the absolute astonishment of all, spoke gruffly and jabbed an index finger to each image. “Stays the same.”

“Also the photographs aren’t in colour, so you can’t say for sure that’s blood. In fact they might all be faked.” Futakuchi continued, the pair only serving to restore Ukai’s faith in humanity.

“At last! That’s what I’m getting at.” Ukai clapped a hand to Futakuchi’s back, “Of course _we_ know this is legitimate because of the scars the kid has, but even so, his face doesn’t exactly show signs of madness, or any kind of mental illness. The doctor couldn’t refer him to the asylum until he properly cracked.”

 Daichi vaguely followed their trail of thought, connecting the scenarios together with a considered hum. “So essentially, Saru was able to buy them time to escape the factory and render the doctor’s work useless… because he refused to show he was being affected besides the expected pain?”  

“Indeed.” The lack of tension in Ukai’s face emphasised his relief, but of course, the situation wasn’t entirely over. “That said, I’m positive the kid is less than stable these days. Put him back in that kind of setting again and I guarantee he’d fall apart instantly.”

 That was one way of putting it, Futakuchi almost dared to speak aloud. No doubt Daichi and Sugawara were interpreting that dreaded meeting, namely Sarukui’s reaction, in a much different light thanks to Ukai’s evidence.

 

 Amidst the lingering hush Ukai collected up the notes and photos and placed the book in his bag, the knife shortly following suit. “I’ll keep a hold of these. In the meantime I need you two to clarify; do you really want to resume the business?”

“Why must you ask that again…?” Sugawara wearily droned, “We’re going to keep doing this, all of it.”

“I understand, though you must agree we can’t keep those kids here.” The words left Ukai’s mouth like iron pellets, clattering to the desk and sending horrible waves of dismay through Daichi and Sugawara, as if they weren’t distressed enough by all that they had discussed that afternoon. “I will keep an eye on Oikawa, since he’s with the Plants, and Nekomata can watch over the siblings. As for the others… I propose we remove them from the site altogether. The factory ones, the witness and the one currently suspected of murder.”

“W-What? But if we do that-” Daichi’s eyes grew wide in disbelief, “That leaves just two members of the group, the Owls might as well not exist anymore! Then there’s the matter of the other groups-”

 Ukai’s sympathy was fast replaced by irritation when he made to get up onto his feet. “Is _that_ what’s most important to you?! Perhaps I haven’t made myself clear: Whether the contracts still exist or not, if either Stoker or the other man finds those kids they’re dead. They can’t stay here any longer than necessary.”

“But we have security, and we know what they both look like-”

“That’s not enough!! Look at you all!” An arm swept over the group, Ukai clenching his free hand in the process. “You’re nothing but children playing boss in this deranged circus! You shouldn’t be in charge of such a business, let alone responsible for protecting those kids. All the while they live under this roof they will continue to suffer, and have you even taken into account the power of the men who are the cause of their misery?!”

“We’ve spent enough time hearing about them!” Daichi protested with a considerable lack of resolve, his argument waning severely under the pressure of Ukai’s commands. “They don’t know that any of the victims are here, they’ll never find them!”

“But someday they will, and can you imagine their delight when they do…? This place is littered with Eastern kids… all of them would be perfect to experiment on, to drag into those factories as workers.” With a bang Ukai slapped his open palm to the desk, leaning in close to the owners who had since withdrawn in their seats. “You’ve never had control in this part of the world, and you never will. Even I, in my position, am forced to keep my head down and obey the shitty laws which govern this city.”

“Then why allow us to investigate the 1898 incident?” Their words came weaker now, the dangers becoming all too apparent in their minds, “Has our work been pointless these past few years?”

“No, I believe that we can still get through the legal system.”

“But _how?_ ”

 That, Ukai had yet to figure out. “We can only move forward, and keep a careful eye on those kids. I’ll explain their situations with Yamiji and Nekomata, and arrange to have them moved to our home as a temporary measure. After that, they can be sent back East to their families.”  

“Is that the only way…?” Sugawara’s speech grew meek, pathetic. It went without saying the Roost would be quite different with them gone… strangely lonely, in truth.

“It is.”

“… Alright.”

 Daichi’s slumped posture and strangled words appeared terrifying, simply foreign to Futakuchi and Aone. From the time they joined the Roost he and Sugawara had always been so firm, unwavering in their approach like genuine parental figures. In the shadow of a man like Ukai however they became novice, powerless, twenty-somethings the world beyond the establishment likely perceived them to be.

“I’ll allow you to include them in the next performance, since it’ll give us time to speak with the group about the plans.” Ukai negotiated. “Once it’s done, we’ll start the move.”

“Mm.”

 With dulled eyes Daichi lifted his glass in toast, his movements saddled with dread and an evident lack of appreciation for Ukai’s minor compromise. “To their final show then.”

 Moments like this were the sole reason Ukai disliked his occupation. There was no joy to be gained from the truth, a simple, condemning fact he had learnt much earlier in his trade. Nevertheless, if it would prevent unnecessary deaths, what more could he do?

 “To their final show.” He repeated, bringing their glasses together with a sombre, hollow clink.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The washikono scene is largely inspired by some amazing roost art drawn by the best Kot, which you can find here http://nekokat42.tumblr.com/post/143189772292/assorted-filth-from-twitter-owls-and-snakes-crow
> 
> Go follow them because there's volleyballs and bnha and everything is amazing thank you have a nice day. If you look hard enough you'll figure out some future ships that'll happen in the story. -thumbs up-


	17. Slate

 Throughout the summertime Futakuchi would often boast about the joys of his job.

 He wasn’t trapped indoors sweating away over a performance routine, or being yelled at in the kitchen, instead he was in the company of a good (albeit quiet) friend, who likewise enjoyed the blissful atmosphere of the Maze. The people were happy, there’d be music drifting through the streets, and if they (Futakuchi) were particularly well behaved, Daichi would hand over some money and permit them a quick trip to the local pub.

 Unfortunately however it was winter, which for Vol often meant the weather was nothing less than utter rubbish. The people were miserable, the Maze was stifled by heavy fog, and the only thing Futakuchi had for a view was a pile of horse shit located precisely twenty two cobblestones away from his feet.

“Someone should clean that up.”

“Off y’ go.” Said Aone, his stare fixated on the mist ahead. He was smiling, an Aone smile at least, when Futakuchi spluttered and stumbled over his words in outright horror.

“I’m not picking the shit up! _You_ do it!”

“Yer the one moanin’ ‘bout it.”

“And I’m entitled to complain. I mean who the fuck thought it was a good idea to bring a horse through the Maze? Scratch that, how d’you even get it to come all this way-”

“Sugawara told yer to stop the swearin’ out here.”

“Sugawara’s told me a lot of things. Doesn’t mean I’ll listen to him.”

 Aone snorted, bringing their conversation to a close.

 

 An outside perspective would’ve deemed their silence awkward, drawn out to the extent that anyone would feel nervous, but Futakuchi was well accustomed to his friend’s absence of words. He found the majority of talkative souls to be downright ignorant and annoying, so to have somebody like Aone was a blessing, truly. The very few instances he spoke were often considered, and genuinely interesting.

 “Something on your mind?” Futakuchi tore his gaze from the filth to examine his companion’s mannerisms. Finding a trace of emotion in the man was a feat in itself, but with time, Futakuchi had grasped the knack for it.

“S’ nothing.”

“Doesn’t seem like nothing.”

“Mmn.”

“Is it about yesterday? What Ukai told us?”

  A subtle twitch in Aone’s features confirmed his suspicions.

“We’re all worried for the Owls.” Futakuchi took the cue to proceed, meanwhile wedging both hands tight into the pockets of his coat to warm them up. “All we can do is hope that they accept Ukai’s proposal, and be there for them on their way out of the Roost.”

“Was hoping to spend more time with ‘em.”

“As was I.”

“No, I mean-”

 Futakuchi arched a brow. “You know I’ve been wondering… Ever since the party you’ve been a bit distracted. That and making a lot of bold efforts to socialise with other groups… You trying to leave me?”

“Sorry.” The shame in Aone’s tone grew thick like the fog hanging about them, encouraging Futakuchi to bat one of those thick upper arms with a hand.

“Don’t apologise! Sure we’re known for guarding the doors, but the fact is we’re not necessarily _needed_ here. If you want to make yourself useful by helping the Owls in their performances then do so! I bet they’d love to have you.”

“But as of next week most the group’s gonna’ be gone.”

“Ah…” Futakuchi’s hand slunk its way back into his pocket. “That is a distinct problem.”

“S’ one way of putting it.”

“Eh… perhaps something will change? Maybe we can resolve their cases in time? Those contracts might expire and- wait, no we-”

“Already ruled out the possibility that invalid contracts will keep the psychopathic arsehole at bay.”

 Futakuchi looked to Aone with eyes overblown in astonishment, when had the man become so vocal?

 “Over here.” Matsukawa quipped as he emerged from behind the front door, nudging the toe of his shoe against Futakuchi’s leg to grasp his attention. He had a hand tucked within the inner pocket of his own coat, and a cigarette wedged between tightened lips. “Got any matches?”

 Futakuchi located the object in question all the while maintaining eye contact with their new arrival, soon passing a slim box his way. “Didn’t think you smoked.”

“And I didn’t think you gave two shits about what other people do.”

“Consider us both surprised then.” Futakuchi sneered, grinning when Matsukawa granted him a slither of a smirk in response.

 

 Three strikes against the box and the match soon ignited, casting a fleeting, peaceful glow across Matsukawa’s otherwise impassive expression. No words were exchanged for the time being, and in light of the hush Aone coaxed himself to action, plucking the sleeve of Futakuchi’s coat and giving it a strangely delicate tug.

“Oi.”

“Head on in.” Futakuchi’s words held no sarcasm, no mocking for once. “We’ll keep an eye on things out here.”

“Mmn.”

Inwardly thankful Aone grasped the door handle, the groan of the iron barely registering when Matsukawa moved to light his cigarette. Despite Futakuchi’s cheerful nature, he could not suppress the sensation nagging at the back of his mind. Guilt, in other words. He had purposely lingered close by to catch wind of their conversation, and likewise intervene, but as for why he had done so…? That, he had yet to understand.

 Nevertheless, there was little to be gained in speculation. With a flick of his wrist the flame of the match snuffed out, the door to his left heaved shut, and an unsettling chill tumbled through the winter air.

 

“You know you can smoke indoors, right?” Futakuchi felt the need to explain as he lit his own smoke. His eyes followed Matsukawa as he slid down the elaborate ironwork to sit upon the floor, both knees pulled up tight to his chest shortly after.

“… Wanted to get out.”

“I didn’t even realise you lot were back, did you come home early?”

“Yeah, first thing. Ukai and some of his assistants escorted us.”

 A wise decision on Ukai’s part, all things considered. Satisfied, Futakuchi drew a lengthy breath before expelling a shoddy attempt of a smoke ring. It strained and wobbled in an embarrassing fashion which, for all it was worth, proved to be a good distraction from whatever rocky path Matsukawa endeavoured to drag him down.

“You’ve seen it then?”

 Futakuchi tried another smoke ring, this one faring a little better than the last. “The shit over there? How could I miss it?”

“I meant the evidence we brought back.”

 “Course you did.” Lips pursed around the cigarette, Futakuchi narrowing his gaze in the meantime. Neither man looked to one another for a minute, opting to direct their attention to a spot where the fog grew particularly dense. “And yeah, we saw it. Horrible stuff-”

 Quick to finish his own smoke, Matsukawa removed the stub from his lips, mashing it into the cobblestones with an evident mass of frustration. “Shoulda’ tried being there then. Sight was enough to make Makki and I cry like a pair of idiots.”

“The photos?” Sure, Futakuchi could see why they’d be upsetting.

“Nah. We found the room they were using for punishments. That’s how we came across the book.”

“Oh.”

 Fortunately the other chose to elaborate, saving Futakuchi the hassle of ruining the already fragile mood. “Now I dunno’ what to do. We kinda’ promised Komi and Saru we wouldn’t get ourselves involved in anything dangerous or stupid-”

“Well you already screwed that up.”

“Noted.” Matsukawa droned, snatching another cigarette from his jacket before motioning for the matchbox. “If we’d known it would come to this, we wouldn’t have gone.”

“Liar. You care about them too much, course you’d want to investigate their case”

 “Got me there.” Fresh smoke rolled out when Matsukawa eventually voiced his sombre reply. “Still, it doesn’t change a thing. It’s our fault they’re leaving.”

“Is not, Ukai’s the one who suggested they go.”

“Right, but only because of the information Makki and I found after going back on our promise.”

“Well that last bit makes you a bit of a prick, not gonna’ lie.” Honestly, Futakuchi didn’t consider himself much of a therapist, so why people came to him with their troubles was nothing short of a mystery. “Perhaps you should stick to Sugawara’s orders next time, save yourself the impending guilt trip.”

“I will when you do, hypocrite.” Matsukawa’s features creased with a fond ripple of laughter. “Really, all I wanted was a bit of fresh air and sympathy…”

 Futakuchi snorted. “You came to the wrong place for that.”

“Oh I dunno’, you’re a funny bastard when you want to b-”

 A horrible bleating tore them from that line of thought, beckoning the pair’s focus to shift towards a shrivelled old woman flailing her stick about. To the surprise of no one it was Futakuchi who had prompted her outburst, his smile permanent all the while he waved and attempted to communicate with the wrinkled goblin. 

 “Don’t mind her, racist bitch.” Futakuchi spared a moment to explain, “She likes to hurl abuse at me from time to time. Do wish she’d stop it though, she makes a complete mess of our entrance.”

“Huh… I’m sure a new coat will smarten her up nicely.”

“As would a new set of teeth, but I’m a doorman, not a miracle worker.”

“You disappoint me.” Matsukawa mocked, eyeing the seething woman once more. Huddled up to the wall with their cigarettes and matching smirks, they were nothing short of mischievous children in the eyes of their assailant, and to that extent, one could understand her rage. Furthermore with a bit of luck on their part Futakuchi could speak some of the demonic woman’s tongue, Matsukawa acknowledged whilst he watched their rally of undoubtedly petty remarks.

“What’s the lunatic saying?”

“Usual stuff, telling me to get a proper job rather than stand around all day. That or piss off back to where I came from.”

“How rude.” Matsukawa inhaled deeply then puffed a good bit of smoke in the woman’s direction. She appreciated it about as much as a punch to the face, her cheeks turning a nice shade of purple from the rage (or the cold perhaps) as she then blathered incoherently to each individual in turn.

“She thinks you’re a lazy shit too.” Futakuchi enlightened with glee, “Bet she’d have a fit if she realised you’re a certified doctor.”

“Yeah well I’m not saving her sorry arse if she does fall ill.” Matsukawa’s lips were formed in their usual disgruntled fashion as he surveyed the nuisance ahead. “Think I should show her my piercings? Or better yet we should kiss, I’m sure she’s homophobic too.”

 Oh, what a tempting offer indeed. Sadly, a grim squelch shut the old woman up before they could even try, all three of them soon gawking at the aforementioned horse shit she had abruptly shoved her foot in during her tirade.  

“Oh dear…”

Fortunately that was the last straw as far as the woman was concerned. With a substantial pull she hauled her grubby boot from the offending substance and hobbled off as fast as her legs could manage, retreating under the cloak of fog in search for her remaining dignity.

“… That was wild.” Matsukawa eventually piped up, brimming with vigour after that display. “Do you get to see many like that?”

“No, thankfully.” His excitement wasn’t shared, it seemed. Futakuchi put out the last of his cigarette then rose to his feet, tugging his clothes back into place afterwards. “Now then, I think it’s about time you stopped hiding, hm?”

“… Hiding? I’m not-”

“Are too. You’re still feeling guilty over what’s gonna happen to the Owls, so you’re avoiding them.”

“No I-… Well, yeah, guess I am.” There went the pleasant mood, Matsukawa inwardly groaned whilst stubbing out his final smoke. “It’s not gonna’ go down well.”

“They’re good people, I don’t think they’ll blame you.” Futakuchi offered a hand to bring the other up onto his feet, then whacked a palm to his back. “Now go fetch me a drink whilst you’re at it, and maybe something to eat. I need to build my strength up in case the crazy bat comes back.”

“What the hell can she do to you? Gum you to death?”

“It’s a risk I’m not willing to take.” The hand slapped harder now, Matsukawa taking the hint as he yanked the door open. “Now, go already.”

“Alright, alright! Pushy prick.”

 Futakuchi opted against a well-deserved retort, settling for shoving the door into the man’s back when he finally walked through.

 

 Flurries of footsteps echoed across the Dome in waves, accompanying the rise in anticipation and noise that often came come rehearsal time.

 “This is going a lot better than expected.” Daichi spoke up, seated with Sugawara in the front row. His partner merely hummed in agreement meanwhile, flicking through the day’s schedule.

“Isn’t it? I reckon we might be able to finish early today if this keeps up.”

“So how did we do?!”

 The yell came from the fire performance group who had just concluded their practice. Loud as always Tanaka was eager to demand an answer, Nishinoya likewise echoing his shouts and animalistic sounds whilst hopping about on both feet.

“It was great, you’ve worked really hard.” Sugawara lifted his head to offer a fond smile. “You’ve also managed to avoid yelling the dreaded ‘T’ word each time Noya, I’m impressed.”

“Yeah well, there’s always next show.” Nishinoya jibed with a grin.

“Indeed.” Sugawara was strangely accommodating of their energy today, permitting any snide remarks to slip by. “Seriously though, Tanaka, good work as ever. I think it’s time to consider involving new props for your routine. As for Tora I don’t need to say much, but you pulled off the fire eating particularly well today.”

“Shut up.” The man in questioned grumbled, his head turned away in obvious embarrassment. “S’ not difficult.”

 Again, both Daichi and Sugawara simply continued to offer their praises, regardless of their companions’ attitudes. “We mean it, you’ve put a lot of time into your work as of late, it shows.”

 A form of grumbled, flustered complaint was voiced by Tora before the trio took their leave, bounding off the stage and to the back of the Dome where the majority of the Cat group lurked.

“What’s next?” Daichi inquired, leaning in to peer at the sheets in Sugawara’s grip.

“Musician review whilst the Owls get ready.”

“Any notable issues?”

 “None.” Sugawara couldn’t mask the pride in his tone if he tried. “We were right to leave things in Yaku and Kai’s hands, they’ve organised the entire thing without barely a hitch. Nekomata was very complimentary of them as well when we spoke earlier.”

 “Oh? Now that _is_ good.” Daichi twisted his upper body to examine the huddle in the distance.

 

 Nekomata was a clever character in his own right, having deduced from Daichi’s loose advice that the best method to engage Kenma in conversation would be through a game. Sure enough it was there, when the pair sat either side of the chess board, that he was able to properly converse with the boy, expressing his success with a large, warm smile which reflected in the tight squinting of his eyes. There had been no complications whatsoever for the Cats in terms of accepting their manager, boss, however anyone chose to put it. Nekomata was the essential parental (grand-parental) figure that they required, and coupled with his experience in the theatre industry, his arrival brought nothing but relief.  

 “It’s nice, seeing them like that.” Sugawara uttered through a sigh as he too admired the gathering. Tora had joined the crowd at the chess table at last, only to stare in bewilderment when Nekomata stopped his game to offer further commendations for his performance. Undoubtedly he had come to the assumption that Nekomata was devoting his time to Kenma alone, but alas, the man proved otherwise. “Feels like a proper family.”

 Daichi murmured in agreement, turning to face the stage once more. “It certainly makes it hard to believe that we’re going through a minor crisis at this point in time.”

“Please don’t put it like that.”

“What else do you want me to say?” Daichi’s voice hovered above a whisper whilst he surveyed the empty space ahead. The Owls equipment was set, and had been since the unearthly hours of the day, but the absence of its performers formed a cruel and solemn reminder of a not-so-distant future. There would come a time when this stage, this building even, ultimately bore no purpose. The Hall accommodated for the other groups just fine after all, they didn’t need the space or height of the Dome, the abundance of blankets Konoha had snuck in as preparation for well-deserved naps, nor the maze of pipework above... No, Daichi honestly wondered what they would do with the space when they were gone.

 “Perk up, you’re gonna’ ruin the mood with that face.” Ukai soon frequented the seat beside Sugawara with a considerable thump, scrutinising the two with his stare.

“Sorry.” The apology was weak spirited, but sincere. “How did the questioning go?”

 Without a moment’s delay Ukai was scanning the surroundings, namely Bokuto as he hurried to blabber at Kuroo in his typical, hearty ways.

“He was exceptionally helpful.”

 Needless to say they were glad to hear it, watching expectantly for Ukai to proceed in his explanation.

 “I had my doubts at first, but he’s a good kid.” The harsh wrinkles across Ukai’s forehead softened in line with his tone. “They all are, from the looks of things. It appears I judged them Owls too early, given the trouble they’ve wound up in.”

 “Of course they-” The glance Sugawara received was enough to halt his complaint. This time he did so out of curiosity, as opposed to fear, patiently awaiting further commentary from their superior.

 “I let Yamiji sit in on our talk, so the kid’s already met ‘im.” Ukai signalled towards Bokuto with his head. “They got on well enough so I’ve left it to him to pass on the news to the group.”

“But-”

“What?” The blunt, commanding tone had returned.

 It went without saying that Daichi was treading on eggshells with his line of questioning, but it couldn’t be helped. “Why go to the trouble of convincing the Owls they have a manager if their days here are numbered? They’ll have no need for him the moment they leave this place.”

 His inquiry left a nasty chill in the air and urged a lump to form in Daichi’s throat. He meant no offense, a factor which Ukai fortunately took into consideration before making his reply known.

“Yamiji was never meant to be just a manager.”

“Pardon?”

 “Us two, including Nekomata go many years back.” Ukai informed, “We all did our time in the military, and rest assured can still hold a gun if need be, Yamiji especially.” The admiration that lathered his words became soothing to Daichi and Sugawara, their faces reflecting nothing but awe. “He’ll do whatever it takes to protect those kids, I promise.”

“… Assuming he’s willing to take responsibility over them.” Sugawara took a moment to note with mild concern. “That’s asking a lot of anybody, bearing in mind their current situation.”

 There came no glare, nor scolding from the older man. Instead, Ukai observed when Bokuto left Kuroo’s side to clamber onto the stage and hurl himself at the silks. With little effort he then ascended the lengths of fabric and slipped away into the dark, smog-like shelter of the rafters.

“He will.”

“But how can you be so su-”

“Pardon the intrusion!”

 Daichi jerked his head back to find Futakuchi lurking not too far away. “Aren’t you supposed to be outside?”

“Why’s everyone so eager to get rid of me…?” Futakuchi’s criticism was muttered via an outward breath, and soon dismissed when he burst into a grin. “I came to let you know they’re here.”

“Who?” Said a blinking Sugawara.

 Really now, was everyone an idiot?

“The new guys of course.”

“Oh!”

“… You’re recruiting already?” Ukai was unable to hide his criticism when he spoke, back to shooting Daichi and Sugawara his trademark glare.

“No, no. These lot approached us a short while back.” Daichi pressed, marginally calmer after that brief scare courtesy of Futakuchi. “They’re a grou-”

“Let’s just bring them in.” Sugawara intervened, hauling his partner from the front row seats. Quickly he cast a sorry glance to Ukai, who simply shook his head in return and beckoned for them to take their leave.

“I’ll be the judge of ‘em.” He stated at last, coaxing a chill to trickle down Sugawara’s spine and have the two out of the Dome in record speed. Amidst their desperate sprint they had left Futakuchi behind, a matter which had him groaning and tossing his hands to air in defeat before hurrying off himself.

“Fuckin’ nerve of it all!”

 

 Left, right, and up a little more… Bokuto chanted those vital, albeit simple directions as he weaved between looping ropes then dropped to his knees, having to crawl the remaining distance to the small door ahead. It was more like a cupboard quite frankly, the sort you’d find under the stairs and avoiding entering unless absolute necessary, for fear of whatever lurked within. Nevertheless, it was where he’d been instructed to go.

“I’m back!”

“Password?”

“Konoha, don’t be mean.” He whined, resting his cheek to the door. “It’s me.”

 A low, rumble of a laugh reverberated through the wood and into Bokuto’s skull, where it drifted about his head in a frustratingly smug manner. “I know who I’m waiting for, and their name is not ‘me’.”

 Bokuto was raring to voice an objection, or otherwise knock the door down until he heard another tremble of sorts, a deep, stern tone undoubtedly belonging to Washio. His words were inaudible from Bokuto’s location, but whatever he had said did the trick, judging by Konoha’s look of displeasure and equally dulled voice when he opened the door at last.

“No fun.”

“I hardly think it’s appropriate, given the circumstances.” Akaashi piped up from somewhere beyond.

“Oh come _on_ , we really need a laugh.”

 Bokuto couldn’t deny that. His conversation with Ukai had been… eventful, to say the least, and by all means he intended on sharing the experience with his companions.

“Get in then.” Konoha urged via a frantic change of personality. He was on his knees as well, shuffling aside to let Bokuto stoop his head and scuttle into the room. Assuming one could call it a room, that is.

 Not that the door had promised otherwise, but the space before him was vast, dark, and incredibly lacking in height. A few candles and a gas lamp sat close to the door, emitting a glow sufficient enough for Bokuto to make out Konoha, Akaashi and Washio, the latter of which had taken to stretching out along the floor, rather than risk bumping his head upon the ceiling too many times for his liking. Bokuto had to wonder how the man even got through the door, given his broad build, but that was a mystery for another day.

 A click and a scrape of metal then resounded from behind when Konoha tugged the latch of the door closed, effectively barricading them from any potential visitors.

“Why are we in here? And just what is this place?” Bokuto felt a twinge of fear hitch his voice, bold eyes scanning the available surroundings. Flecks of gold from the candles and lamp accented the numerous bolts jutting up through the floor in various directions, and there, out in the distance he spied the soft, dim glow of another lamp, occasionally blocked out by a silhouette. It was a sight akin to the signals of passing boats he’d seen on his journey to the west, or a lighthouse maybe, flashing on and off in a peculiar pattern.

“Saru, Komi and Onaga are doing the last of the safety inspections.” Konoha informed, pointing to the light in question which flickered on occasion. “Right now we’re sitting in the loft of the Dome. All of the pipework attached to the ceiling of the main room below is connected and secured up through here. It requires frequent checks to ensure none of the fixtures are waning or, you know, about to fail and cause the entire metal structure to come crashing down on an unsuspecting audience mid-live performance.”

“Ouch.”

 “Precisely.” Konoha snorted, ignorant to Bokuto’s smirk in amusement upon noticing that even here, he had made sure to bring a blanket or two to hide within. Moreover one had been given to Akaashi, whom currently huddled up beside the candles with his nose deep in a book.

 “Lemme’ put it this way,” Bokuto tried again, “Why’re we _all_ here? Feels like we’re trying to hide or something-”

“We are.”

 Were it not for the fact he knew the man, Bokuto would have deemed Washio terrifying, and potentially dangerous. His head had slowly turned towards the small gathering somewhere during their conversation, and with an unfortunate catch of the light his features became more prominent than usual. That stare, above all, had tripled in ferocity.

“We just needed to be a place that’s safe.” Konoha’s attempt to reassure was weak, to put it nicely. “It’s difficult to talk down there, even in the Dorms. Can’t trust any of them.”

“… Are we in trouble?”

 Konoha avoided detailing further, only loosening his lips to mutter a quick ‘they’re coming’. That left Bokuto with little choice but to await in silence whilst the remaining trio crawled back, their lamp casting further sparks of gold to pool and seep across the waves of iron.

“Did we miss anything?” Onaga inquired as he set the lamp down with a clunk. Polite as he often was, none could miss the strain and tension creasing his forehead all the while he endeavoured to find a comfortable position in their cramped surroundings.

 “No, and I suggest we all lay down.” Washio advised kindly. Several hums sounded in agreement to his proposal, and one by one the owls shuffled onto their fronts, soon to be covered with Konoha’s generous offering of blankets.

“How many of these do you even have?” Komi remarked, barely dodging Konoha’s hand when it came to bat him on the head.

“As many as necessary. If you don’t like it sit up and give yours back, it’s not like you need to lay with the rest of us.”

“Hey-!”

“A valid point.” Akaashi chipped in, tearing his eyes from his book momentarily. “Consider your height a blessing.”

 To that Komi shrugged half-heartedly, then settled beneath his sheet. “I guess.”

“This is kinda’ fun, if you ask me.” Sarukui interrupted so as to raise the mood. “Though more importantly, did anyone follow you here, Bo?”

“Nope, I told Kuroo we needed some privacy, so he’s making sure no one comes to find us.”

“Good man.” Said Washio with a humble nod. “Then I think we’re set to begin. Mind telling us what happened with the detective?”

 Truth be told, Bokuto hadn’t the faintest clue where to begin. Ukai had been a relentless abundance of grunting and prominent wrinkles, hurling question after question at the poor owl until he could barely manage another word (which for him was an absolute rarity).

“He was… really talkative.”

“What did he specifically ask about?” Konoha pried carefully, noting the vacant glaze in Bokuto’s eyes.

 “The man, Webb.” He eventually said, glancing Akaashi’s way sub-consciously. “I had to describe him as he is now, compared to the photo Sugawara owns. His looks, voice… stuff like that. Then Ukai wanted to know personal things, like my experience working for him.”

 Akaashi had since closed his book, offering Bokuto his full attention. “That doesn’t sound all that interesting, no offense.” The latter half of his speech was solely directed at Konoha and Washio, who had arranged the whole ‘hiding in the loft’ affair so as to conduct some research of their own. “Ukai was simply gathering a witness statement. What on earth are we supposed to learn from this? Or rather, what were you hoping they’d be talking about?”

“How should I know? Any details regarding a case that big should be worthwhile-”

 “Don’t make it sound like we’re only after gossip, Konoha.” Washio interjected. There was a hint of worry to Bokuto’s features which failed to go amiss, persuading the man to attempt a comforting smile before continuing. “Bokuto, was there anything else?”

 “Well… He _did_ get really nosy about the punishment system in my old workplace.” Bokuto forced a grim, thick mass of saliva down with a gulp. He refused to make eye contact as he did so, training his stare upon the floorboards instead. “I dunno’, I mean it’s not that important right? I couldn’t tell him much else besides the knife thing, and the cut on my back, but then he kept nagging about ‘other methods’, and whether there was anyone else in the room during the punishment… It was weird.”

“Almost as if he had an answer in mind.” Said Onaga.

“Yeah.”

“Right.” Konoha felt that a better time than any to intervene, lifting his gaze to meet Akaashi’s. “You taking that down?”

“Yes.”

 Sure enough the book wasn’t there for entertainment purposes. Open once more, Bokuto could see a few loose sheets of paper tucked neatly in the spine, of which Akaashi had littered with notes and numerous arrows indicating who knows what. A respectful quiet ensued as he went about scrawling the final details of their discussion until his pencil stilled, and his usual, disinterested stare floated across the paper.

“I believe they take us for complete idiots.”

“Oh wait!”

 Bokuto’s abrupt display of energy caught Akaashi thoroughly off guard, several pairs of eyes darting from the book to their rowdy companion.

“There’s also this guy we’re gonna’ meet, Yamiji! Well, I’ve already met ‘im but you know-”

 Washio deemed it wise to cut Bokuto short before he steered them directly off topic, “Is he a detective as well?”

 “Nah, factory owner. He’s interested in seeing our work and being a manager or something. Ukai didn’t really explain it to me, just said I should let you all know, because-”

“No thanks.” Komi interrupted, Washio and Saru conveying similar grunts in disapproval.

 “Here me out!” Bokuto pressed, looking to each of them in turn, “Ukai wants us to understand that he’s a good guy, he said that he’s nothing like our old bosses-”

 “Huh…” Komi arched a brow to Washio, who gave a subtle nod in return.

 It was there that Bokuto felt the air turn thick, and pleaded with a hopeless stare for them to enlighten the group.

“… Were those his exact words?” Konoha finally probed.

“Pretty much.”

“Then there we have it.”

 Bokuto was utterly lost. On the other hand Akaashi recommenced his manic scribbling, dragging the tip of his pencil across the page to form another big arrow before circling Bokuto’s last point.

“I think we’re right.”

 “About what?” Bokuto asked, but to no avail. Akaashi had swiftly returned his undivided attention to the book, and Konoha’s lips were firmly pressed together.

 “You said bosses.” Komi’s clarification was laced with pity, “According to Sugawara, Ukai’s only here to question you as part of his investigation into 1898.”

“Which he- _oh_.”

“I think he’s got it.” Sarukui chimed, reaching an arm over Komi to give Bokuto’s shoulder a pat. “Ukai shouldn’t know a thing about us three.”

“Especially given what you and I were told by Sugawara up in the investigation room, when he called the factory incident irrelevant.” Akaashi concluded. His words drove Bokuto to gasp in recollection, his jaw agape even after.

 Now it really did make sense. Sugawara had been exceptionally keen to forget the factory drama altogether, so how on earth would Ukai know about it?

 “But… is there a chance Ukai read the newspaper article, and guessed you three were here? Or perhaps Sugawara told him?” Convinced as he was otherwise, Bokuto had to know.

 “Impossible, Sugawara had very little information on the case, so I believe it’s the other way round. That Ukai must’ve found something himself.” Akaashi resumed, acknowledging Sarukui next, “You mentioned Sugawara and Daichi were acting strange this morning, correct?”

 “If you could call ‘overly friendly’ strange… then yes. I can’t remember the last time the two of them showed so much concern for me.”

 “Besides the night we first arrived at the Roost.” Said Komi, blunt as ever. “If we connect it to the punishment thing, when Ukai asked if there was another guy then-”

 His tongue quickly stilled in the pocket of his cheek, and his eyes grew unreasonably wide when he scanned Sarukui’s features.

 “… Go on?” Konoha piped up, about as curious as the rest of the group judging by their intense expressions.

“I- sorry, nah, totally forgot what I was gonna’ say.”

 “You were talking about the punishments.” Said Washio.

 “Was I?” Komi rubbed a hand to his chin with furrowed brows, deliberating on his actions until he cracked a hollow laugh and slapped a grin to his face. “Ah- right! Well I guess I didn’t need to go on. We know all that already!”

“Do we?”

 Unprepared for the further challenge (and from Washio, of all people), Komi’s smile dropped no sooner had it appeared, dragging the remainder of the pleasant mood with it.

“Yes. We do.”

“I beg to differ-”

“Enough, you two. We’re straying from the point.” Akaashi spoke through a sigh, closing his book for what would hopefully be the last time. On that note Onaga brandished a pocket watch, turning it towards the light for all to see.

“We also need to head down for the rehearsal. That is to say, we should’ve been there roughly five, ten minutes ago?”

“Just great.” Konoha hauled himself upright with such speed that he scarcely recalled the low ceiling in time, snatching up each blanket in turn when the other owls began to move as well. “Grab the lamps, we’ll leave them outside- oh and mind your heads-”

“Yes, yes.” Komi jibed with his head kept low. The ceiling wasn’t an issue in the slightest, he was hell bent on avoiding Washio’s death glare, and anything would do. In fact he found that the floorboards had just become incredibly interesting to look at in that instant… the latch of the door too, for that matter.

“Ah, but let’s get these put away first. Doesn’t matter how long we spend here if we’re late already, right?” Konoha snorted, offering his partner a warm smile when he plucked up a blanket to fold.

“Mm. Maybe we can resume our talk.” Washio muttered, shooting Komi a hardened stare.

“Tatsuk- oh for goodness sake!!” Konoha’s complaint resounded throughout. Someone, namely Komi, had found it incredibly funny to put out all the lights prematurely, relishing in the sudden thumps and curses caused when people felt about through the darkness.

“We’re not done yet!”

 

 Unbeknownst to the Owls they needn’t bother hurrying. One by one they dropped down from the silks to the stage below, only to turn this way and that in bewilderment. The front row seats were empty, save for Ukai and the gentlemen to his left, Yamiji presumably.

“We’re running behind schedule.” Yaku, sat at the far corner of the stage called out to the group. There was another by his side, Shibayama, the pair of them holding their violins in preparation for the review.

“Where’s Daichi and Sugawara?” Konoha asked, his words lathered in frustration. The answer to that came from Kai however, who looked up from his cello case to offer the gathering a kind smile.

“Futakuchi came in not too long ago to fetch them. I believe our new performers have arrived.”

“Oh…”

 That was that. Setting their issues aside, the Owls came to the swift conclusion there was nought they could do to amend the situation, exchanging fleeting glances before noting the man beside Ukai.

“Perhaps we should say hello.” Akaashi suggested under his breath, jolting when Yamiji’s stare met his own. Onaga, Bokuto and Konoha were keen to agree via a wave of nods, as predicted, leaving the final trio contemplating their decision.

“Well? What about you?”

 Komi chewed at his lower lip, eyeing Sarukui as he shoved his hands into his trousers pockets and lowered his gaze. Presumably, he wasn’t going to speak on the matter. Regrettably there was no luck to be found with Washio either, his own attention diverted somewhere across the Dome whilst he folded his arms tightly over his chest. Dare Komi say it, the man was likely irked by their earlier conversation (or lack of) in the loft, and was outright refusing to grant him a shred of acknowledgement.

“Give us a moment.” He concluded at last.

“Sure. I think it’s best we don’t overload the poor man anyway.” Konoha jeered, giving Bokuto a playful nudge in the side, “This one was probably enough to handle on his own.”

“Hey!!”

“Be nice.” Akaashi began, waving both hands in Konoha’s direction so as to usher him in Yamiji’s direction. Konoha’s words were akin to oil on a flame as far as Bokuto was concerned, and by no means did Akaashi intend on spending more time than necessary dispelling yet another dispute caused by a slip of the tongue. “Now go on. The sooner we do this, the sooner we can start practice.”

“Alright, alright.” Came the cheerful laugh from Konoha, who wandered with Onaga, Akaashi and the ever fragile Bokuto towards the edge of the stage.

 

 As for the three left behind… it was awkward as hell, to put it in Komi terms. His eyes felt as if they were doing rallies in a sports event, darting back and forth between Washio and his partner until the former caught his stare, and jerked his head away harshly in a rare display of… who knew?

 It wasn’t anger. No, Komi had witnessed that many a time and could recognise it in a heartbeat. Frustration was definitely there however, and maybe… Yes. If he had to chance a guess, he’d place Washio somewhere along the lines of regret.

“I won’t ask you to explain.” Came the dull tone which confirmed Komi’s assumptions. “I know it’s difficult for any of us to speak about those days in the factory, but…”

 Washio hadn’t the foggiest where he was taking this. There were too many questions lingering in his head, and too little time of which to ask them.

“I don’t know how to put it.”

“It’s okay.” Komi approached with sympathy, tugging at Washio’s sleeve to grasp his attention before it became lost altogether. “And I’m sorry. I bet you’re mad with what happened in the loft.”

“A little.”

 Komi dipped his head in understanding. “You weren’t wrong to question me, but the timing was crap.”

“Always is.” Washio scoffed, managing a chuckle. It was a simple action, but enough to have Sarukui crack a genuine smirk, and lift his head so that the trio could make eye contact.

“You know I don’t think there’s a good way of doing anything here. It’s rubbish.”

“What he said.” Komi snickered.

 The humour was a blessing, sure enough, but it had proven short lived as far as Washio was concerned. Soon the man was groaning with his eyes shut, and pinching the bridge of his nose with a thumb and forefinger.

“Washio?”

 “I… I honestly don’t know where to begin though. I’ve always thought about what we’ve been through… In fact to this day I believed I knew everything there was to know, but that detective’s caused me to doubt myself.” After a delay Washio opened his eyes to examine the pair opposite. Every twitch they made, every subtle movement, whether it was the fumbling of fingers or the biting of lips, Washio knew he wasn’t wrong to have those thoughts. “At least tell me this, does Ukai know something that I don’t? About us, back then?”

 “We can’t tell for sure, but I think so.” Sarukui spoke in earnest, meeting Washio’s gaze out of sheer respect. “If you don’t trust me, it’s alright, I get that-”

“Don’t be ridiculous, of course I trust you.”

“I’m just saying.”

“I know, go on.” Washio persuaded. For a period of time Sarukui dithered, adjusting his weight from one foot to the next with folded arms and a constant hum.

“Lemme’ think… It’s not that I hid things necessarily…”

 That was a horrendously discouraging statement if Washio ever heard one.

“I told you what basically happened to me, that I got a bit of a beating, and besides you saw the injuries.” All joking aside, Washio could pinpoint the anxiety tearing up Sarukui’s throat, the nerves which forced him to burst into laughter or so help him, he’d throw up. “I… when I woke up here, I was confused. I didn’t know where we were, whether we were safe, I couldn’t go talking about our experience.”

“That makes sense. We might’ve been in another part of the factory, or property that Stoker owned.”

 Sarukui paused to give a half smile. “Yeah. But then there was also the problem of you two, Komi especially since I’d taken the punishment on his behalf. Was I supposed to just tell him all the details of what happened?”

“I wouldn’t have coped if you did.” said Komi.

“You never have, hence the nightmares.”

 Komi swallowed hard, and Sarukui threw his hands skywards.

“My point is proven. It was bad enough watching you suffer, so how could I face doing the same to Wa- _ouch_!”

“Oh.” Washio blinked, examining his hand which had just slapped the back of Sarukui’s head. “It slipped, sorry.”

“It didn’t slip you prick! The hell was that fo- no! Don’t do it again!”

“I really can’t help it. Thing’s got a mind of its own.” The mood was elevated with an unusual burst of energy from Washio, who sought to swipe again once he had peeled Sarukui from his arm. “Consider it payback for keeping your mouth shut all this time, though.”

“I’m telling Konoha!”

“What are you, a child?”

 He’d taken the words right out of Komi’s mouth. The final owl, for anyone concerned, had abandoned hope in their having a civil conversation a good five, maybe ten minutes ago. In spite of his pessimism however, the once eerie, serious atmosphere had brightened with Washio’s efforts, and Komi couldn’t have been more thankful for his actions.

 Sarukui on the other hand, albeit cured of his minor depression, had reverted to sulking. “There I am tryin’ to spill my heart out to you and you whack my head! What kind of sympathy is that?! Haven’t I been hurt enough in my time?”

“It was a gentle tap.”

“Was _not_ you great big lump of muscle!”

“Your remarks are as cutting as ever.” Washio teased, readying himself when Sarukui finally let go and stood before the other. Granted, Washio had gained mere scraps of information from their talk, but it was enough. The truth had a horrid way of rearing its ugly head in the end, no matter how hard one tried to supress it, and so, he would hear the remainder of the story in time.

 

“What on earth are they up to back there…?”

 Thoroughly distracted, Akaashi and the other owls watched the stage curtain the trio had retreated behind. He supposed they had completely forgotten they all had ears, ears which were well adjusted to Komi and Sarukui’s outbursts, and that of Washio’s grunts. Washio’s laughter, in contrast, was like gold dust, and upon hearing it echo from somewhere further back, the corners of Konoha’s mouth tweaked into a sincere and loving smile.

“Are they fighting?” Yamiji questioned without a hint of amusement. Then again, who could blame him? A fight wasn’t much to laugh about, especially between those who were supposed to be working together several feet up in the air. Such a profession required trust, commitment and-

“Got you!”

 It didn’t need two boys, adult men technically, in their twenties skidding and rolling about the stage in some bizarre wrestling match.

“Washio, Saru!!” A horrified Konoha exclaimed, racing over to separate the pair and save the group’s remaining dignity. They couldn’t have set a worst first impression if they tried and- no, actually they could, but Konoha didn’t fancy testing them on that.

“What’s gotten into you both?!” He called out, soon standing over them.

“I found it.” Sarukui declared, his head popping out from somewhere in the pile of limbs and a growling Washio.

“Found what, dare I ask?”

“His ticklish spot. Did you know he had one?”

“Of course, I know just about every spot on him.”

 The moment that cat-like grin widened, Konoha realised he’d made a mistake.

“Don’t misinterpret that.”

 “I think it’s too late.” Washio interjected, rolling his eyes as he sat up on his knees and allowed the smug moron below to escape. That was to be a grave mistake on his part however, or so he discovered when Sarukui tackled him to the floor once more.

 “How lively.” Yamiji spoke up, quivering in his seat with a hearty laugh when the stage became littered with shouts.

“Sorry. T-They’re not usually like this, honest.” Akaashi endeavoured to save the situation, his fingers twisting and pulling in his usual nervous fashion until Yamiji silently shook his head.

“No need to apologise, let them have their fun.”

“Yes.”

 It was a peculiar word, fun. Akaashi didn’t find a great deal of things worthy of the term, but true, in this scenario they were enjoying themselves. _He_ was enjoying himself.

“You’ve got that thinking face on.” Bokuto beamed, leaning round to spy a better look at Akaashi. “What’s on your mind?”

“Nothing terrible, for once.”

“Now that just sounds depressin’.”

“It can’t be helped. Someone has to balance out your endless energy.” Akaashi detailed, prodding Bokuto’s inflated cheeks with an index finger. The comment had Bokuto’s brain ticking (for better or worse), and when the familiar sparkle surfaced in his eyes, coupled with a smirk, Akaashi couldn’t supress his dismay.

“Just what’re _you_ thinking?”

 The grin stretched on and on. “You said we’re a good match.”

“I merely implied we have balance.”

“Which is good.”

 Congratulations, Akaashi inwardly droned to himself, he had fallen into yet another of Bokuto’s verbal traps.

“Yes, yes it is.”

“So you’re agreeing with the match thing-”

“Koutarou,” The name was dropped as a command, above all, “I think Washio could use a hand.”

 There was no need to elaborate. With a formidable bounce in his step Bokuto launched himself at the stage and towards the gathering at the far end, resulting in booming cries when he well and truly intervened, landing atop Washio and Sarukui with a round of contagious laughter.

 

“Want to join them?”

 After gaining no initial reply Kenma peered into the back row of seats. By process of elimination (or common sense, however one preferred to call it) the heap of wool and black tufty hair could only have been Kuroo, his focus honed upon the stage.

“Oi, was talkin’ to y-”

“Nah,” Kuroo grumbled, extending with a yawn to lay his legs across two seats, “I’m not getting caught up in that mess.”

“The way you’re staring at them says otherwise.”

 A brow arched, and Kuroo turned to catch a glimpse at Kenma. “You been watching me all this time?”

“Don’t flatter yourself, you look like a mess.”

 Point well made, Kuroo confessed with a humble nod. He was a mess. But it was a Kuroo mess, so essentially he could pass it off as a style… right?

“Don’t try to justify either.” Kenma, an apparent mind-reader, jibed then retreated to the chess table, leaving a dumb-founded Kuroo behind. It was a wonder how on earth they’d gotten together, but nonetheless it was a mystery Kuroo would rather solve another time, when he wasn’t so shattered from late nights trawling the investigation room and attempting to figure out whatever Webb had in mind next (assuming there was a plan).

 

 Truth be told he wasn’t having a great deal of success with his work, even with Ukai’s input. There were too many inconsistencies, and goodness, if he could just leap into one of the 1898 victim’s minds he’d do it without so much as a second thought. But alas, he could not. Nor could he force them to detail more than they already had.

 Moreover, there was the nagging detail that he’d been living under the same roof as a key witness for the past year or so. Humiliating was probably the best word Kuroo could pluck up to describe the feeling, and yet how on earth could he have realised the connection? After all, Bokuto, much like the Yamamotos, Oikawa and Akaashi, had kept his lips wedged shut on the matter. The final night in their apartment had been proof enough of his reluctance to talk, wherein the mere mention of the cut on Bokuto’s back sent the owl into a terrible mood and-

 Kuroo trembled hard, torn from his inward ramblings when a horrid gust of air came through the open Dome doors, accompanied by ceaseless chatter. That reminded him of another troublesome factor: Whilst he may have been hired as a writer, the very notion of the Roost hosting a show amidst his investigation was ridiculous, more so the introduction of new staff, all of which did nothing but stir up an excess of excitement in the establishment.

 Alright… maybe excitement wasn’t that bad a thing. Certainly not in Bokuto’s case, Kuroo realised when he glanced towards the Owls on the stage. Regardless, it was incredibly difficult to gain the attention of his bosses all the while they were devoting their time to settling people in, organising the show or- doing their job, really.

 Kuroo wondered if he was the only person genuinely devoted to 1898. He also wondered what the time was, but on the flip side couldn’t have cared less, and would much rather continue to huddle in the warmth of the Dome and think of happier times.

“… It’s a bit busy right now, you’ll have to excuse us.”

“Not at all, we understand.”

 Kuroo knew he was becoming spoiled. Weeks ago he would’ve killed to have his current life, figuratively speaking, and there he was grumbling away in the comfort of a grand building wishing for even better. It was selfish beyond words, especially when one took into account the suffering of his closest friend, and in turn, his newfound family of sorts. Because of this, Kuroo knew he needed to get in gear. To put a stopper on his whining and to crack on with the case, to end his blatant display of laziness.

 Kuroo did like _some_ things, after all.

 He liked his group, loved them really (even if certain individuals frequently tested his patience). He loved the atmosphere of the Roost, the energy, the childish yells which filled the Dorms at night when they were supposed to be asleep. Kuroo liked the fact Bokuto was genuinely happy, that he had proven Kuroo wrong and found the love he so desperately sought after.

 Kuroo also liked the look of the two people, their newest performers presumably, currently stood by Daichi’s side. The blond, freckled fellow appeared shifty, true, but Kuroo supposed it was wrong to judge on appearance alone. Even if the scrapes and scuffs upon his leather boots indicated numerous violent escapades Kuroo didn't fancy questioning. Then there was the other, a composed character dressed top to toe in black which complimented the sweep of dark hair covering one of his eyes. Kuroo especially liked his long, tailored coat. Envied it even.

 Finally, Kuroo really liked his luck for once. Upon catching a glimpse in his direction, Daichi gave a fleeting smile and a polite nod, one which promised they’d have a friendly conversation later, much unlike the owner’s tendency to lecture him endlessly. Then there was Sugawara, who soon wandered over to the group to educate the newcomers further on their tour of the Roost. It was a sight which stirred up pleasant memories of Kuroo and Bokuto’s first day (minus the slight hiccup wherein Bokuto thoroughly insulted Oikawa and thus made an enemy right off the bat).

 What Kuroo didn’t like so much was the unfamiliar, nagging sensation in his stomach when he spied a mass of fur stood not too far from Sugawara... Perhaps it was a last minute costume change?

 No. Kuroo had already seen the selected outfits in rehearsals prior, and none of which, for the record were half as hideous as this creation. (Not that Kuroo was ever an expert on clothing, mind you.) Nevertheless, there was a human lost somewhere in the fluff, judging by the slim dark legs which protruded from the bottom and lead to a pair of equally awful black pointed shoes.

 In short, Kuroo thought they looked like an arsehole. A tad presumptuous on his behalf, but still, who on earth strutted about looking like that? Last he recalled fur was a luxury item, and under no circumstances did a performer’s budget ever allow for such unrestrained spending.

“Did you want to come introduce yourself?”

 The sound of Daichi’s voice hurled Kuroo back to reality. “Oh, sure.”

 In a swift, fluid motion he left the back row seats and greeted the two who had since been in Daichi’s company. It was time to be social and courteous, to give the arsehole a chance before rubbing him or her through the dirt.

“This is Sakijima,” Daichi noted the blond first, then his friend, “And Hiroo.”

 “Good to meet you.” Kuroo stated, adopting the business tone he often reserved for clients and those within his old office. “Name’s Kuroo, I’m a writer.”

 On closer inspection there was something amiss with the pair, starting with the scoff which escaped Sakijima’s lips.

“Didn’t ask, but good to know, I guess.”

 Oh well, Kuroo dismissed, some people lacked etiquette. Hiroo on the other hand was a refreshing contrast, taking Kuroo’s outstretched hand in his own to give it a firm shake.

“Hello.”

“You’re both contortionists?”

“No shit.” Sakijima quipped, halting with wide eyes when a cough announced the arrival of the third person: the potentially kind and funny one Kuroo pictured he’d get along with just fine. Yes, the one he might find a common ground with, the one who could join him for some drinks and the rest of the group in a card game or two late at night. The one who wasn’t an arsehole, hopefully.

“This is Daishou.” Sugawara announced, motioning to the final individual. The golden-brown fur of his coat was bunched up tight to his ears, pronouncing his pointed face, and the severe angle at which his eyes closed when he smiled.

“It’s been a long time.” Daishou addressed, refusing to extend a leather-gloved hand. He had a point to make, after all. “Which sewer did they pluck you out of?”

“Same one you came from, I believe.” Kuroo retorted, likewise grateful to keep his hand clean of the man’s touch, gloved or not.

 Perhaps now Kuroo could permit a moment to dream of better times. Times where he wasn’t stood before the bane of his childhood and that sugar-coated smile, nor the multitude of crafted insults and schemes he could whip up in an instant to paint Kuroo in a terrible light… But alas, Kuroo would have to wait. His instincts had been correct, his luck was terrible, and years of being a downright horrible child were about to catch up with him.

Daishou was an arsehole, and it was entirely Kuroo’s fault.

 


	18. Calico

 Sugawara was at a loss for words when Kuroo and Daishou clashed. For the past couple of minutes neither had bothered to speak, burning holes into one another with mirrored glares and slowly twisting, disgruntled faces. It was as if the very notion of sharing the same air had turned to acid in their mouths, foaming and riling up to distort their features in a hideous fashion.

“You two…”

 Despite his best efforts Sugawara’s speech became lodged between the disbelief and astonishment already clogging his throat, forming a sensation akin to a soot-filled chimney.

 Was he to pen their meeting down as coincidence, or misfortune…? Heaven forbid if Sugawara knew. The cat and the contortionist were forever locked in their soundless battle, and neither he, nor the frantic looking Daichi close by, had it in them to intervene.

 Thank goodness for people like Sakijima, then.

“Oi. Are you acquainted with that?” He voiced with minimum tact, jerking his head in Kuroo’s direction.

“Unfortunately, yes.” Said Daishou, prying his eyes from that horrendous bed head to cast Sakijima a pitiful glance. “It’s a long story.”

 Things always were, in Kuroo’s opinion. In the case of Daishou however he put it down to one simple scenario. A time of innocence and cruelty, of his mother’s cooking and her minutes spent lecturing Kuroo on his manners.

 It was a tale of the bully, the bullied, and the consequences of irrational jealousy.

 

 It began in the large town they called home. The land was vast and filled with trees which Kuroo liked to climb when his parents weren’t in sight. There were several houses and stores his side of town, and as such he had no need to visit the other end, the end which Bokuto had likely grown up.

Perhaps if fate had been kinder, Kuroo might have lived in the company of the young owl, and undoubtedly become a nicer, less sarcastic individual. Alas it was not to be, and Kuroo was saddled with another boy entirely.

 

 Up until one dreaded autumnal afternoon, Kuroo had always been a very sweet child. He was rather tall for seven years old, and clever too, as his parents often praised when they brought him into a warm embrace. By the time he was six he had had two girlfriends (one of which he kissed on the cheek), one near marriage (which his parents didn’t take seriously in the slightest) and held hands with a sweet but timid boy. There were some older kids who thought his hair looked funny, and that it was unfair of him to be better than them at sports, but Kuroo couldn’t have cared less. He had a couple of friends who liked him very much, and that was all that mattered.

 Because Kuroo was a sweet child, his parents thought it would not hurt to introduce him to a potential new friend. A family had recently moved to their side of town, and in order to welcome them his parents invited them over for the afternoon.

This, of course, is where Daishou came in.

 Kuroo thought the new adults were very nice. They fawned over his bright smile, and how he greeted them politely. They thought his wild hair was rather cute, and the man in particular took a moment to laugh and flatten it down with both hands, before deciding Kuroo suited the bed head better. In any other circumstance Kuroo might have taken offense, and told the man he was mean, but he supposed the sleek and tidy look was preferred in this new family, what with the father’s immaculate side parting, and the clean cut of his clothes. The mother too, with her long, dark hair tied back and neatly pinned with a variety of accessories, upheld a sense of dignity Kuroo had yet to witness in the dishevelled adults of the town. There was something very beautiful to them both, and their child unfortunately matched.

 Kuroo, for the record, had inherited the majority of his mother’s features. From her mop of unruly hair, to her sly, yet charismatic smile which emphasised her half lidded eyes, Kuroo had adopted the lot. She was a very attractive woman in her own right, and so he held nothing but pride in his own appearance.

 Daishou, on the other hand, he had proven to be a perfect blend of his parents. His hair was indisputably akin to his father’s, even down to the style, but beneath that sweeping cut lied the sharp, angled features of his mother. Kuroo confessed it wasn’t a terrible combination, and it only served to increase his swiftly pent-up frustrations.

 Not only was Daishou very pleasing on the eye, but a brilliant child too, just like Kuroo. Daishou was also tall, and of seven years of age. He had learnt to walk, talk and pretty much match all of Kuroo’s achievements around the same time as he. He could read and write rather well, and though he had a distinct dislike for the cold, he would supposedly thrive in the summer heat, a time wherein Kuroo often found himself exhausted. Truly, by the end of their parents’ conversation there was little left of which Kuroo had to define himself as an impressive character. He had become quite normal, dare he say it.

 Pity for him, Daishou had one last trick up his sleeve.

 It took a great deal of persuasion, but once Daishou’s father had pried the boy from the depths of his blanket, he displayed, to Kuroo’s absolute horror, that he was ridiculously flexible. He could part his legs to a degree Kuroo thought impossible for any boy, or man, given their physical make-up, and to top it all off, lean in with a hand and reach precariously close to the tips of his toes. It was not perfect, nor did the adults expect it to be, but it was most certainly exceptional for a child.

 Kuroo’s parents then proceeded to blather on about Daishou’s future, and whether his parents encouraged such behaviour. They then showered the boy with what Kuroo believed to be _his_ praise, before permitting him to retreat into the warmth of his blanket once more.

The adults thought Daishou was amazing.

 Kuroo thought he was stupid, bendy, and he did not appreciate the fact his parents frequently forced him to play with the daft child thereafter. Day in, day out his mother would nudge him to their front door where Daishou would be waiting, bundled up snug so that the winter’s chill would not bother him. Kuroo wished for nothing more than to run and escape to his other friends, but wherever he went Daishou followed, and in time he had successfully infiltrated Kuroo’s beloved social circle.

 Both parents couldn’t have been prouder for how well the boys got along. Their pleasant relationship had lasted well into the following seasons, and likewise their parents’ had bonded further. The two families held frequent parties together, and at dinnertime the kids would laugh and babble about their latest adventure, before scurrying out into the garden. It was a perfect picture of friendship, in the eyes of the adults.

 When their backs were turned however, the spiteful truth showed face.

 

“I don’t like you.” Kuroo, soon to turn nine years old, scoffed late one night when they were put to bed. A rustling came from nearby after he spoke, and Daishou rolled onto his side with furrowed brows.

“Why not?”

“You’re weird.”

“Oh.” Daishou slunk into his bedding with guilt. Kuroo had begun to sound like the children from his last hometown, the ones he hated and hid from. “What have I done wrong?”

 Kuroo wrinkled his nose. “You steal all the attention.”

“Do not.”

“Do too. My friends keep talking about those tricks you do, how great you are.”

“I only did what they asked.” Daishou mumbled. “Anyway, you said they were good.”

“Yeah well they’re not. It’s weird and stupid- and it’s not normal. Kids don’t do that.”

“Well I do, and I’m a kid.”

“Doesn’t matter.” Kuroo grumbled, poking his tongue out afterwards. “You gotta’ stop it. I’m the leader of our group and you can’t boast like that, it makes me looks uncool.”

“But if the others ask me to do it, I can’t say no-”

“You’re going to have to try.” Kuroo huffed, “Or we can’t be friends anymore.”

 

 Sure enough, his childish threat had worked, and always would on a withdrawn soul like Daishou. He would do anything to keep the first proper friend he’d made, regardless of the costs, and for a while Daishou refused to show off his skills to the other children. Kuroo regained his popularity as a result, and in the long run, he believed he had finally put an end to that awful display of flexibility.

 Until the travelling circus, that is.

 

 “He’s a contortionist in the making.” Kuroo’s father laughed merrily and gestured to Daishou one winter’s evening. They had just returned from watching the performers in the centre of town, both Kuroo and Daishou’s parents chatting away still fuelled on the excitement of what they’d witnessed. It was a fantastic display of acrobats and dancers, of men who juggled knives and climbed upon one another’s shoulders to form an impressive tower. There were fire eaters too, who could expel great plumes of heat from their mouths much like the mythical creatures the children had heard from their stories.

 For Daishou, who had grown incredibly secretive, and somewhat ashamed of his abilities, the sight of the contortionists gave him a great deal of hope. It rekindled his enthusiasm for the art form and coaxed him to continue practicing, convincing him that he was not as strange as Kuroo made him believe. In fact he started to ignore Kuroo’s taunts altogether, even if their parents continued to force them to spend time with one another. At a stretch it could be said Daishou no longer cared what the boy thought of him, and why should he? He had made a new friend the day of the travelling circus, a quiet and pretty girl by the name of Mika.

 

 Sickly and shy, Mika scarcely left her home. The cold was downright awful in her opinion and she was just about ready to go home that night when she bumped into Daishou, who appeared similarly chilly and miffed. After mumbling her apologies Mika paused, and came to realise there was something very charming about the boy. He was nice to look at for starters, but then she saw something wonderful in his mannerisms too. Such as the way he stumbled on his words when she gave a softened smile, to the way his head dipped low as he offered his scarf to her, despite obviously requiring the warmth himself. Moreover they had both liked the contortionists best, which proved to be a good ice breaker for them, and when Daishou told her of his own skills she convinced herself he was amazing. She even told him so without a moment’s hesitation, causing the poor boy to have a minor meltdown and burn such a vibrant red that he feared the blush might stain his face permanently.

 By the end of the week, Daishou kind of- maybe, sort of had a girlfriend. His parents held no qualms, allowing him to visit Mika’s home during the day to keep her company. They would send him off with small gifts, fruits and flowers (the latter was his mother’s doing, and had him blushing even more than he cared to admit) which he’d take to Mika in hope that it would make her feel better. It always did.

 Naturally, this didn’t settle well with Kuroo in the slightest. Already bitter from Daishou’s earlier successes, the addition of befriending the nicest girl available was aggravating. The once sweet child had spiralled downwards into a bundle of cunning, gruesome jealousy, and would not rest until he made his displeasure known.

 He ensured to keep his actions hidden, mind you. It would not do to have either parents discover the tension between the boys, and Daishou knew better than to tell on him. That’s why he started small, pursued the insults and the verbal abuse, before moving onto utterly horrible antics.

 Firstly, Kuroo fully exploited Daishou’s hatred for the cold, and spent the majority of winter engaging him in snowball fights. Daishou didn’t take to the game that well, and definitely did not approve of the chunks of ice and rock Kuroo began smuggling within his snowballs. One had cut his cheek quite deep on occasion, and when he showed his parents they simply laughed, dismissed the incident as an accident and sent him back outside. Even when Kuroo shoved snow into his bedding, it did not matter. He was a boy after all, and they did such daft and humorous things to their friends.

 Come the warmer seasons Kuroo was at a loss, and all too aware of his own weakness to the heat. He made do with sneaking bugs into Daishou’s bedsheets instead, and shoving him down a big hill just on the outskirts of town. When it rained he could kick the puddles at him, or better yet push him into those too, and hurl mud at the unsuspecting child.

 It took eight more months, countless cuts and bruises, and one grim game later for the parents to realise something was amiss with the boys. In short, after numerous failed attempts to stop Daishou and his contortionist dream Kuroo had an idea. He would no longer harass the boy, but encourage him. And so the next, and final time they played, Kuroo lured Daishou into performing a trick, one which involved stuffing himself into the smallest of spaces, and suggested he try it with a box in his parent’s cupboard.

 Blinded by the potential revival of their friendship Daishou complied, even if he did struggle to fit within the box, and before he knew it he was trapped, left alone in the dark for longer than he cared to know. Try as he might to escape a hefty load had been placed upon the box for good measure, and the door wedged shut. Additionally it helped that Kuroo knew the cupboard was barely used, so only when Daishou mustered a loud enough shout did he at last attract the attention of Kuroo’s mother. Needless to say words couldn’t begin to describe her emotions when she found the frightened child, nor give shape to the pain in her stomach when she pieced together the reality of her son’s intentions.

 Daishou and Kuroo’s parents still met now and then following the incident, passing by in the town as they bought food and supplies, but they kept the boys far apart. Their final game had left its mark upon Daishou, who grew distraught at the thought of entering a cramped room, or space of any sort for fear he would be locked up once more. He rarely left his home unless it was to visit Mika, or to journey to the other side of town, meanwhile Kuroo proceeded to live as he always had, surrounded by children who adored and pandered to his whim.

 

“Well? Isn’t someone gonna’ explain?” An impatient Sakijima complained, unable to discern the emotion in Kuroo and Daishou’s eyes. Much to his irritation neither man was compelled to respond, causing him to reel his eyes back and click his tongue repeatedly.

“I see you achieved your dream.” Kuroo uttered, his voice laden with something along the lines of boredom. The sooner their talk ended, the better. “Good for you, but why’re you here?”

“Because this place suits my profession, and I need somewhere to work?” Daishou retaliated, riled up with amusement when he watched Kuroo shift his weight from foot to foot. That had been a habit of Kuroo’s from a young age, only surfacing when he was being told off, or made to do something he didn’t like. Clearly, he was thoroughly uncomfortable in Daishou’s presence. “Now then, why’re you alone?”

“I’m not alone.”

“Looks that way to me.”

“Fuck off.”

 Sugawara slapped a hand to his forehead. There was no mistaking the kind of relationship the men had. “Can we keep it civil, please?”

“Tell that to him.” Kuroo quipped with severely narrowed eyes. “I’m not working with this shithead.”

“And I find him rather unpleasant.” Daishou detailed with a mocking sigh. “Let’s call it even and be thankful we’re not both performers.”

“Indeed,” Daichi spoke up, nodding profusely. “Daishou makes a very good point.”

 Of course he did, Kuroo scowled inwardly. Twisting the minds of the overly trusting was his speciality.

“So are there only three of you?” Sugawara slipped into the conversation again, addressing the three contortionists. “I was expecting more, and not quite so soon, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Ah.” Hiroo lowered his head, and Sakijima bowed politely in turn. Apparently mind games were not beyond Daishou’s friends either, Kuroo acknowledged with additional dismay.

“There are a few more.” Said Daishou, “But they had some business to finish back home, so us three took the initiative to journey on ahead and introduce ourselves properly. The others will be arriving next week.”

“Sensible.” The Roost owners agreed in unison, and Sugawara proceeded to elaborate. “Say… I know it’s rather sudden, but how about you give us a show later? Or tomorrow perhaps? We’re sure the others would love to see your work.”

 Hiroo sounded another ‘ah’, then fell silent, and Daishou took leadership again, “I don’t mind, nor does Hiroo, but Sakijima is currently unable to perform.”

“Why?”

“Had an accident.” Sakijima informed with a disturbing laugh, before lifting his shirt to display an array of bandages and purple tell-tale signs of bruising. “I fell head first down the stairs of the ship we were travelling on. Cracked a rib and bashed myself up pretty bad. The doctor on board said I need to refrain from working until it’s properly healed.”

“Goodness.” Sugawara inhaled sharply, worry etched deep in his features. “We have doctors of our own on-site, will you require further medical attention?”

“If you don’t mind.”

“Not at all!”

“Woulda’ been nice if someone caught me, to be honest.” Sakijima eyed Hiroo suspiciously.

“Not my fault you were incapable of walking down some stairs.”

“The boat was rocking! How the hell am I supposed to have stable footing on a floating bowl of wood?!”

“There was a handrail.”

“Piss off I couldn’t grab it in time.”

 Really, the drama was beginning to set Kuroo’s teeth on edge. It was nauseating, false, and why he hadn’t walked away yet was beyond him.

 Or not, because he did have one thing on his mind.

“So where’s Mika?” He called out, grasping the group’s attention. “Thought she might be hanging off your arm, all things considered. Or wait-… did she dump you?”

 Sakijima gradually lowered his shirt, his eyes wild with something remarkably close to fear when he stared in Daishou’s direction. Hiroo too, all his current lack of emotion aside, had jolted and begun fumbling with the cuffs of his coat.

 Daishou on the other hand, simply smiled.

“She passed away, almost six years ago now. You know her health was never that good.”

“ _Oh shi_ -”

“You inconsiderate moron.” Daichi spat, gathering all the authority possible as he glared Kuroo’s way. “Apologise!”

“I was about to!” Honestly, Kuroo had never felt such a prick in his life. “Look, seriously I wouldn’t have said anything if I kne-”

“You should’ve kept your mouth shut regardless.” Sugawara threw his opinion in, “I don’t know what your background is, but there’s no need to be so hostile. Daishou and his friends are here to work and deserve a chance to prove themselves, much like the opportunity we gave you.”

“I didn’t doubt that!”

“Then what’s your probl-”

“It’s quite alright.” Said Daishou, his hand raised calmly so as to halt Sugawara. “It’s been a while, and Kuroo and I have a lot to catch up on.”

“Are you sure you’re okay…?” Daichi pressed, earning a nod in reply.

“Certainly, though perhaps we could have a moment to speak privately? I reckon this mob is a bit unsettling for my friend here.”

“I’ll fetch us a drink then.” Sugawara proposed, his partner wholly in agreement as they wandered to the bar.

 Kuroo sincerely hoped they wouldn’t take long.

 

“Daishou…” He began during a burst of courage, “I really am sorry about what I said... For your loss too. I know Mika was important to you.”

 Kuroo expected the pause that followed. Determined to avoid the conversation altogether Hiroo and Sakijima had stepped aside, muttering under their breaths as Daishou paced about then lifted his gaze to the ceiling.

“… Daishou?”

“Come here a second.”

 Kuroo obliged without delay, rightly apprehensive when Daishou draped an arm about his shoulders and tugged him in. The fur of his coat rubbed and prickled at his skin like needles, and the leather clad hand upon his arm clenched tight.

“You see those…?”

“The pipes?”

“Yeah.” Daishou’s voice lowered dangerously. “If you so much as breathe her name again, I’ll hang you from them by your intestines. Understood?”

“Absolutely.”

“Good!” The gloved hand slapped his arm marginally harder than necessary, and Daishou’s smirk returned. “I’m so pleased we could meet again, really. I have my friends here for company, but knowing you’re here too is _just_ what I needed.”

“Right.” Kuroo paled, the image of his bloody demise still fresh in his mind.

 

 Not that he’d voice it aloud anytime soon, but he did feel a scrap of pity for the other man, and an urge to be forgiven for his behaviour all those years ago. Still, it went without saying there were many miles to tread before he could patch up their relationship. Moreover Kuroo could not shake the chilling suspicion that finding the opportunity to speak with Daishou alone would be near on impossible. Especially when the next horrid twist of fate occurred.

 “Daishou?!”

 Kuroo’s head fell forward with a groan in dread as he heard a shout from somewhere close to the stage. It came again whilst Daishou whipped his head round to find the owner of the voice, and sure enough Bokuto was bounding up to the not-so-merry ensemble.

“It’s really you!” The owl gawked and circled Daishou with a bounce in his step, his grin meanwhile wider than ever, “Where the hell did you get that coat? You look awesome!”

“I can’t recall.” Daishou replied with a strangely fond tone to his voice, it seemed he didn’t mind Bokuto’s energetic approach, “Anyway, it’s been quite some time since I last saw you, hasn’t it? I almost didn’t recognise you with your hair spiked up like that.”

 Bokuto stopped abruptly, quirking a brow “Dai, really? Who else do you know with looks like mine?”

“Point made.” The other laughed, sneaking Kuroo a glimpse. By then the cat had slipped into further unease, ready to sprint out the door were it not for Bokuto’s golden eyes now honed upon him.

“Hey Kuroo, did you know Daishou came from the same town as us? It’s some really weird luck we’re having here!”

Luck had packed its bags and sailed home east, as far as Kuroo was concerned.

“Luck…?”

“Yeah!” The loud owl declared, “Daishou and I are good friends, we used to hang out when we were what… ten, eleven maybe?”

“Ten.” Daishou confirmed to Bokuto’s delight, allowing him to continue.

“Right, it was great fun and _oh!!_ ”

 Judging by the absence of shock on Daishou’s face he was telling the truth about their connection. Only a person truly accustomed to Bokuto’s estranged yelling and gasps mid-sentence would have be able to retain such a calm expression. Akaashi was living proof of that.

 Eventually, Bokuto halted to gape, eyeing Daishou up and down. “I get it…! You’re the contro- canter-… the people Sugawara said were joining us soon, right?!”

“Contortionists?”

“That’s it!” Pent up with a wealth of exhilaration, Bokuto gave Daishou’s back a mighty wallop and sent him stumbling a few paces with a splutter. “Man you’re really cool!”

“And you never cease to overwhelm with your kind words.” Daishou replied, finally regaining his footing. “I’m curious though, did you and Kuroo meet here?”

“Nah, we used to live together in a place just outside the city. Ever heard of Morne?”

“Can’t say I have.”

 Bokuto grunted and dismissed the topic at a bat of his eyelids, opting to focus instead on the lingering tension between his two companions. “So what about you and Kuroo? You know each other?”

“Well-”

“We spent a little while together when we were children. Nothing more.” Daishou bubbled up with glee at the look Kuroo gave when he was interrupted, more so the increasing scowl he earned when he poked his tongue out afterwards. “You could say we’re all friends, in that respect.”

 Bokuto’s swiftly widening eyes conveyed both delight and agreement. “And now we’re all here we can hang out again, right?!”

“Of course.” Daishou nodded back to Hiroo and Sakijima, “These two won’t mind a bit of extra company.”

“Sure, why not.” Sakijima threw his hands up with a shrewd laugh in surrender. There wasn’t much to be gained in arguing with Daishou, though sometimes Sakijima tried, he really did. Pushed his limits, to be honest.

 Fortunately he wouldn’t get a chance to try, for when Sugawara and Daichi returned at last they were immediately distracted by the sight of Kuroo, Bokuto and Daishou, their eyebrows rising in perfect sync shortly after.

“I take it you’re all acquainted?” Sugawara probed, his answer coming in the form of multiple nods.

“Well, that makes the introductions easier for us.” Daichi laughed.

 One by one they poured and distributed the drinks, and for a considerably peaceful half a minute nobody spoke, but of course Sugawara was set on changing that.

 “Daichi and I have been discussing what to do in terms of accommodation.”

“Oh?” The contortionists perked up.

“I’ll be honest, it’s been difficult. I mean we have the Dorms, and there are a lot of floors to it… but most of the rooms are taken.”

“What about Komi’s old room-” Bokuto started, only to be hushed by the clearing of Daichi’s throat.

“Out of the question, unless you fancy removing a certain someone from his lair.”

 Bokuto took a swig of his drink, regretting it when the alcohol bit back in full. “N-Nah. I’d rather not…”

 Sugawara and Daichi predicted as much, hastily returning to their thoughts. “The Plants and Cat’s floors are also quite full… and let’s not get started on the Crows-”

 Daishou raised a hand to speak, before getting interrupted by Daichi.

“We’ll figure something out, we promise!”

“No, no… We trust you’ll find a solution.” Daishou insisted, “I was simply curious about these strange pet names you have going on.”

“Oh!”

 Kuroo forced a yawn so as to hide the scoff urging to leave his throat. For all of their past issues, and their differences now, aside, he had to agree Daishou was spot-on with his description. They were pet names, and they were downright bizarre.

 “They’re group names.” Bokuto beamed with unmistakable pride. “Kuroo’s part of the Cats, who do writing, music and production stuff. The Plants are… what are they exactly?”

“Part floor performance, part production team.” Sugawara pressed, his concentrated stare almost daring the current Roost occupants to correct him on the matter. “Moving on, there’s the Crows who are a mixed floor performance group, then the Owls, which Bokuto here belongs to. They’re aerialists.”

 A whistle sounded from behind Hiroo, luring the group to shift their attention to its source, Sakijima. He was currently examining the equipment hanging from the ceiling and shaking his head side to side. “Count me the fuck out of that group.”

“My thoughts precisely.” Daishou agreed. “I presume we require our own name?”

“Well you don’t have to, I suppose…” Said Sugawara, his voice wobbling a little in hesitation, “But it’s a thing we do. Gives us a sense of belonging.”

“Hmm…”

 The contortionists merely looked to one another, as if eye contact alone could convey their words. It was a peculiar sight all in all, and not simply because three men were caught in a staring contest, but because something about the whole affair seemed rather… private. Yes, as if they really could perceive one another’s thoughts.

“… Snakes.”

 Hiroo, the one man Daichi and Sugawara initially believed to be mute, or something akin to shy at the very least, took the reins. “It suits our profession, and…”

“Yeah.” Sakijima conjured a genuine, and dare Kuroo say it, pleasant smile. “Yeah I like that. Snakes are good.”

 Snakes were nothing short of terrifying in Sugawara’s opinion, so it was not the most ideal group name. In fact last he checked the only reason you’d call someone as such was to insult them…

 Be that as it may, it was not his choice. Furthermore the trio appeared quite at peace with the notion, calm and happy even. It was a stark contrast to the first impressions he had had of them, when he arrived at the front door to find three distant, solemn figures stood before him. (Then again he put that down to the shoddy weather, taking into account Daishou’s obvious hatred for the winter season.)

 Although, when he thought about it… that instant had been rather snake-like. Sugawara had thought the worst of them on instinct, much as one does when they come into close proximity with a snake, and yet they turned out to be good people. Indeed, they were deserving of an opportunity to prove themselves, much as he had told Kuroo not too long ago.

“Snakes it is, then.”

 

 Onaga breathed a sigh of relief when their rehearsal session concluded.

 Thanks to the arrival of the newcomers their practice, alongside the musician review, had been pushed well behind schedule by at least an hour. Though the wait grew tiresome, and Yaku’s mood understandably escalated into something quite awful, at long last the Owls (Bokuto especially) were able to perform and carry off their routine with a great length of success.

 There was little room to question the effort Bokuto had devoted to learning their trade, and after mere weeks he had bloomed into quite the acrobat. In retrospect it was beneficial that he already possessed the muscles, and solely required a push (or several) in the right direction.

 Bokuto was outstanding, to be honest. Onaga whole-heartedly admired his passion, his strength and goodness he envied the man’s endless supply of confidence.

 Were he a spiteful sort, Onaga might have considered himself jealous.

“Are you all done?” Came the voice from the front row seats.

 It was Yamiji. He sat alone, but was not lonely, judging by his content expression.  

“We are, yes.”

“Join me for a moment then.”

  Onaga complied, as he always did.

 

 On some occasions he speculated whether he was in fact too nice, and that he should reject some of Sarukui or Komi’s wild schemes, or whatever chores Konoha had yet to complete… but then he disregarded the case entirely, for what use ever came of such negative thinking?

“You’re all very skilled.” Yamiji praised, “Tall too, well save for one, it looks rather impressive from the audience.”

“Thank you.”

 The old man paused to reflect and examine the boy now beside him. Though he had met Bokuto initially, he preferred to observe and understand the Owls from afar to begin with: To see how they interacted together, likewise with folk from other groups. To see which characters were more assertive, the leaders if you will, to those who preferred to follow.

 Onaga sat snug in the latter category. Without a shadow of a doubt he was the quietest, most humble of the Owls, with Akaashi potentially a close second (when he wasn’t scolding Bokuto). Albeit blessed with height and a decent physique for his profession, he did not stand out. No, he purely existed within the same space.

 Even now, when Yamiji’s constant gaze should have irked him, he remained still, and silent.

“I’m curious about you, if I must be honest.”

“That’d be a first.” Onaga joked. It did not settle well with the man to hear his admission, however.

“You seem happy with the others, but… I can’t quite place it…”

“They’re my family.” The owl interjected with an unforeseen wave of self-confidence. Perhaps it was the sheer will to defend himself, or his love for the group which spurred him on. “I care about them all very much. I might not speak often, or seem as interesting, but I am who I am. I… I couldn’t ever force myself to change.”

 Yamiji cracked a warm smile, gripping Onaga’s shoulder with a hand. “Nor would I expect you to. You seem very kind.”

“Not all the time, but thank you.”

 

 Hush drew over them like a cloak whilst Yamiji removed his hand, and Onaga could feel the scrutinising stare upon him once more. It became apparent that Yamiji did not intend to judge him harshly however, so he let his own eyes drift sideward to evaluate the man in turn.

 Yamiji was well-dressed at a glance. Tidy, but not swathed in expensive materials like many of the rich people who visited the Roost. His buffed and shiny shoes lead to a plain pair of trousers, shirt and waistcoat, and of course the necessary thick wool coat of which to shield oneself from the frosty air. Yamiji’s other hand, Onaga spied curiously, was thumbing at the corner of an excessively worn book partly tucked beneath his coat. Additionally within his waistcoat pocket the boy then spotted a pencil, thus coming to the assumption that he had been taking notes during their performance.

“You really are an interesting mix, I have to confess.” Yamiji proceeded to detail with a certain level of affection, “Konoha and Washio are quite strong personalities in particular, though ironically I find Konoha to be the greater mystery of two, despite Washio’s reluctance to speak.”

“Konoha is a private sort as well.”

“I gathered. Do you know much about him?”

“We’ve spent a fair bit of time together.” Onaga spoke, “But that’s all I wish to say. Konoha won’t tell you much else.”

“Indeed he didn’t.” Yamiji receded. “I hope I can speak with you all one-to-one at some point, it’s very beneficial, as much as I enjoy seeing you bond as a group.”

 Onaga chewed at his lower lip, keeping both eyes level with the pencil still. “You’ve done a lot of looking today, if you’ll excuse my saying so.”

“Not at all, and you can call me Yamiji.”

“Thank you.”

 Goodness, Yamiji thought out of all the Owls, Onaga might be the least troublesome. Alas somewhere, tucked behind those narrowed eyes, there was a clever mind which he believed scarce few people had taken the time to appreciate. It was difficult to pry anything from the boy, though not because he was quiet, but because he was wise, and a keen observer, much like he.

“Pay no mind to this.” Yamiji insisted when he brandished the book, coupling his movements with a nervous laughter when some loose pages and smaller scraps of sorts jutted out in the process. “It’s a notebook I carry with me for business meetings and the like.”

“Oh.” Onaga trailed the faint golden details embossed into the covers of the book. Whatever words had existed on the spine were largely gone, mere fragments of the letters now illegible. “I hear you own a factory. It must be busy?”

“It can be. We consist of a reasonable sized team who work on projects as they come, whether it’s new gates for a country estate, or parts for a train. We don’t carry out mass-production like the larger companies.”

“I see.”

“I can name all of my staff.” Yamiji additionally relayed with pride, “I know what kind of homes they go to at night, how their families are doing. If there’s ever an issue I’ll gladly permit them to take time off. I can always give a hand if necessary, after all.”

“You mean doing the actual production work?”

“Yes. I was young myself once upon a time, spent my days working as an apprentice and now here I am.”

 Well, consider Onaga impressed. Yamiji really was unlike the factories owners he’d heard about.

 “We specialise in metalwork, as you might have guessed. That’s why I’m keen to work with you kids.” Yamiji cast his attention to the equipment above when he spoke, “I haven’t got much knowledge on theatres and acrobatics, but I can assist with the technical side of things.”

“Ukai recommended you here based on that?”

“To put it simply, yes.”

 Onaga took the response in his stride, noting Yamiji’s shift in attention as the other Owls (Bokuto excluded) paced about the back end of the stage. His thumb subsequently hooked its way under the cover of the book, feeling at the corners of the first few pages whilst his eyes began to narrow. He did not mean to ignore the boy, but something had caught his focus.

“How much has Ukai told you about us?” Onaga spoke up, evidently curious about Yamiji’s fierce concentration.

“Not much, not much at all.” Came a reply too soon to be taken as fact. “Why else would I wish to speak with you?”

“Because you’d like to learn more than what you know. What you’ve been told.”

“That I would.” Yamiji conceded, laughing through his nose. “Honestly, I don’t know a thing about you, about them even. Ukai hasn’t told me a th-”

“Then why do you look at them with such pity?”

 Yamiji froze, and his eyes grew wide in apprehension. “Pardon?”

“I don’t mean to offend.” Onaga pressed. For the second time in their conversation he was riding on a high, a hope if you will that he was correct in his suspicions. “It’s just that I believe we’re alike. I spend a great deal of my time observing, and learning through what is before me.”

“And you saw pity in me?”

“I saw you fixated with that book of yours. It’s not difficult, even from so high up.” Onaga gestured to the equipment above, “You watched a great deal of our practice, but there were times that I caught you opening the book, times perhaps where you thought we might be too distracted to notice. After that you’d then stare at Washio, Komi and Saru with the same saddened expression.”

“I was taking notes-”

“Your pencil is still sharp.” Onaga acknowledge the object tucked in Yamiji’s waistcoat pocket, “You haven’t been writing notes, and if I’m right I believe that book does not belong to you… Is it Ukai’s?”

 Yamiji’s demeanour sunk alongside his volume. “It’s not his.”

“Did he give it to you?”

“… Yes.”

 As much as Onaga wanted to burst with pride at his guesswork, it was inappropriate. There was much more to unearth in their discussion, and thankfully Yamiji was willing to oblige.

“I… when I was watching you… I noticed you were staring at some photographs.”

“I was, yes.”

 Onaga nodded gravely, glancing downwards to the book. “There’s one poking out, just there.”

“Oh-”

“It’s upside down, don’t worry. I couldn’t make out what they were from high above, either.”

 Yamiji reclined in his seat with relief, watching while Onaga extended an index finger and calmly nudged the photograph back into the book.

“Aren’t you curious about what’s inside?”

“No, the thought scares me.”

“As it should.” The elderly man turned his head to the ceiling with a weighty breath, “It’s funny… This book could have been used for drawings, or a novel perhaps, but instead it serves to relay information I’d much rather have never known.”

“I understand.”

“As a factory owner, it shames me.” Yamiji ensured to make eye contact with his next reply, “I understand why Ukai suggested I come here, what benefit I might have, but…”

“You’ll do good.”

“You can’t be certain.”

“No, but you seem like a kind man. It’s a start.”

“Thank you.”

 

 Truly, Yamiji hadn’t predicted Onaga would be so… different. He had completely refuted all the man’s prior impressions, and proven himself to be a much smarter, stronger person than he had imagined.

“I have a feeling I know what’s in there.” Onaga piped up, referring to the book. “And if I’m correct, can I… can I ask you to keep it hidden for now?”

“Only for now, but in time-”

“I know.” Shakily, Onaga clenched a fist in his lap and hung his head. “I know. One day we’ll see whatever’s inside but please, I can’t stand the thought of… just not now, we can’t-”

“There’s no need to worry.”

 On the contrary, Yamiji was exceptionally worried. Onaga was clearly mustering all the willpower possible not to crack in front of the man.

“I-I’ve always felt quite useless. I relied on Konoha when we were young, and now, living here I’ve done nothing but watch my friends suffer.”

“You’re only human.”

“It doesn’t excuse my lack of support.” Onaga steeled himself, biting hard upon his lower lip only to crumble when hot, wet trails streaked their way down his cheeks. He did not deserve to cry.

“Hey now, there’s no need to-”

“I’ve lost count how many times I’ve awoken to the screaming, the crying, the footsteps down the hallway signalling another sleepless night. They’ve all endured a great deal and I can’t do a thi-!!”

 Onaga jolted, and Yamiji feared for the remaining years of his life when a bundle of wool landed upon the boy’s head and cast him into the darkness.

“Hope you don’t mind the interruption.” Konoha said as he approached Onaga’s seat then knelt down. “I need a moment with this one.”

“By all means.” Yamiji agreed.

 Onaga pursed his lips shut when his head surfaced from the blanket, awash with shame when they trembled now and then. Meanwhile his heart grew heavy and thudded against his ribs with reckless abandon as he locked eyes with Konoha.

“I-I… I’m sorry.”

“For what?” Konoha rolled his eyes back with a smile, “Sorry for the fact you put up with me all those years, kept me grounded when I thought we’d hit a wall?”

“No I meant about the cryi-”

“Or perhaps you’re apologising for all the errands and chores you’ve undertaken without a single complaint, all the times when I feel like we’ve asked too much and yet lo and behold, I’m wrong. You’re there and dependable as ever.”

“Konoha I just sa-”

 Back and forth Yamiji observed their little debate, or rather, Konoha’s constant urge to halt Onaga before he could justify his actions.

“Are you saying sorry because you’re really helpful?”

“No-”

“Because you’re ridiculously kind and forgiving to us lot even though we’re a bunch of idiots and arseholes?”

“No!”

“Well, then I can’t fathom why on earth you’d have to apologise.” Konoha jibed, his fox-like grin permanent when Onaga huddled up in the sheet with an uncharacteristic frown.

“You’re awful.”

“And you’re not. Which is why I can’t sit by and watch you cry over us. You don’t deserve that.”

“I might.”

 Konoha shook his head in disbelief, and rose to his feet so he could tug the boy into a brief embrace. “Wataru, you’ve done enough, I promise.”

“… You really think so?” Onaga mumbled, returning the hug all the while teetering on the edge of another tiny breakdown. “But I- I know there’s always more.”

“Well that’s true.” Konoha accepted with a soft nod, “There’s something you can do, now that I think about it.”

“Yes?”

 Another nod followed, and Konoha soon took the boy’s hand in his own, hauling him up from the seat.

“Don’t change, please.” There was a strain of sadness, emotion certainly, in Konoha’s voice as he then motioned to the remaining Owls on the stage. “The Roost is no form of stability, no place I’d consider truly safe, and that’s why you’re so important. There’s nothing better than knowing that when things are crashing down around us, there’ll always be a foundation we can return to, a tiny portion of sanity in this world.”

“Sounds silly. I don’t provide that.”

 Konoha’s eyes reeled back in their sockets once more, and he guided the owl towards the stage. “C’mere. I’ll prove it.”

 

Curious as ever, Yamiji surveyed the group ahead. Before they reached the gathering Konoha had paused to whisper in Onaga’s ear, after which their paced slowed down, as if they were creeping up to the rest of their companions. Scratch that, they were.

“I’m back.” Said Konoha as he joined the small circle, greeted by his companions with small hellos and smiles. In the meantime Onaga did his best to keep quiet, as per instruction.

 With careful steps he worked his way round until he stood behind Washio. Only then did he brace himself, stooping down to give the backs of Washio’s knees (a weak point according to Konoha) a solid prod. Honestly Onaga wasn’t sure what to expect, what to gain from this feat even, but he certainly hadn’t predicted Washio would outright collapse to the stage floor.

“The hell did you do?!” Komi near on screeched to a dazed Onaga, his entertained shriek bearing promise of a laugh ready to break out. “He fell so fast!”

“I-I…!”

“Incredible.” Akaashi stated with deadpan expression that contradicted his speech.

 Washio, for anyone concerned, had barely caught himself in time, and had a palm flat against the stage for support as he sat up on his knees. His dignity however was long gone, stolen away by one snippet of advice from Konoha, and two fingers which Onaga began to examine in shaky awe.

“Akinori…”

“Goodness you hit the floor hard.” His partner quipped in a bid to change the topic. Ironically he did not find it in himself to help Washio, all things considered, and instead took delight in the laughs, gawks and sounds of astonishment coming from the remainder of their party.

“I need to try that.” Sarukui proposed to a grunt in disapproval from Washio, and Komi too for that matter.

“No fair, you got to wrestle him.”

“But I didn’t have half as much impact as whatever Onaga just did.”

“That’s because you’re not Onaga.”

 Overly kind to a fault, the boy in question helped Washio to his feet. He could not shake the fear quaking his legs however, and daren’t stir up the will to meet Washio’s gaze. Would he be yelled at for his actions? Would Washio begin to think badly of him? Of course not, but Onaga was a rightly paranoid sort.

 Washio on the other hand simply laughed through his nose at last, ruffling Onaga’s hair to dispel his fears.

“You got me.”

 

 Pride couldn’t hope to articulate the swelling in Yamiji’s chest all the while he witnessed the Owls laughing and mucking about on the stage. Onaga had certainly shown himself to be handy, and sure enough he was a brilliant observer.

 He had been wrong on one occasion however, Yamiji noted fondly as he took out a second book, this one slim and much smaller than the tattered old thing Onaga had seen. It had been issued by Sugawara and Daichi upon his arrival as a welcoming gift of sorts, one which he could use to write details about the Owls for future reference. It was a nice thought, true, but what he liked best about it was the inclusion of a single photograph, a group picture of the Owls smartly dressed and somehow holding their expressions long enough to smile for the camera. According to Sugawara their unpredictable sleep patterns, and general tendency to mess about, had made taking the picture incredibly challenging, but Yamiji believed that merely served to increase its sentimental value.

 With a level of delicacy he opened to book to an empty page, and plucked the pencil from his pocket to write the youngest owl’s name. Contrary to Onaga’s beliefs he was not useless, nor was he dull, and Yamiji made a note to remind the boy of that much whenever possible.

 


	19. Satin

 “Three robberies, one death of a rich old man, and a drunken brawl in the eastern side of the Maze… Sounds like a typical day in Vol to me.”

 With a flick of his wrist Kuroo folded the evening newspaper in half and slapped it to the kitchen table, watching flecks of dust puff up from the surface like sparks in the glow of the nearby gas lamp. Night had cast its shadow over Vol many hours ago, and brought with it a chill possessing more bite than that of the afternoon winds.

“Wonderful.” Daishou spoke up from further down the table, briefly earning a shred of Kuroo’s attention and a discerning glare.

“You’re still breathing?”

 Daishou raised an index finger in response first, then shoved his free hand up under his jumper. “Wait for it… yeah, yeah the chest is moving… there’s a distinct pulse too… I appear to be alive.”

“Fuck off already.”

“Wash your mouth out.” Daishou scoffed, leaning over to snatch up the tabloid. “Believe me I don’t like this anymore than you do, but it turns out the Cat’s floor had a spare room, your intended room in fact, and therefore we Snakes are free to claim it as our own. Sugawara’s orders.”

“Isn’t it a bit cosy for three people?”

“I didn’t think you cared.”

“I don’t.” Kuroo slouched back in his chair, arms folded across his chest as he surveyed the snake across the room calmly opening the newspaper. “And can you even read that thing?”

“As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Give it a rest, will you?” Yaku, seated at the head of table, cocked an eyebrow at Kuroo in warning then returned to his dinner. “The Snakes are living with us whether you like it or not.”

“Clearly.” Kuroo exhaled, tilting his head back. “Just keep out of my way, alright?”

“I fully intend to.” Daishou quipped then returned to the paper in his grasp. Yaku gave it a good few seconds before finally taking another spoonful of his stew, inwardly mulling over the events from earlier on.

 

 In all honesty he didn’t mind the Snakes joining them. Granted it was a busy floor, but the more the merrier, and true to their namesake the Cats were rather easy to distract with new or shiny things. So essentially, one way or another Yaku knew the newcomers would be of use to him. Even if for the simple purpose of keeping Lev occupied and out of trouble.

 And speak of the devil, he mused when the aforementioned individual came bursting into the kitchen with Sakijima and Hiroo in tow.

“Is there still some food left?!”

“Of course, you think I’d eat it all?” Yaku spoke up gruffly, eyeing the walking lamppost whilst he made his way across the kitchen and to the stove. “Where’ve you been anyway?”

“I was having a tour!”

“Don’t you mean giving?” Yaku stated as he eyed the two snakes. Much to his dismay however their faces spoke volumes.

“He got lost twice-”

“The second time didn’t count!”

 Sakijima drew up a chair close to Yaku, weariness crawling its way through his features. “You look reliable, how about you show us around tomorrow?”

“Gladly, and would you all like some food?”

“Please.”

 Daishou snorted from behind the newspaper when Yaku shoved Lev away from the cooking pot. “It’s nice to know someone maintained their sense of hospitality… Yaku, was it?”

“Yes. There are others in our group who are polite and helpful. These two are an exclusion.”

“Oi!”

 Yaku failed to see where he was wrong, lifting both brows at Kuroo and Lev. “I have to wonder how you were raised, truly.”

 

 Kuroo knew better than to retort what with Daishou in the room, settling instead for a disgruntled huff and gesturing for Lev to take a seat beside him. Likewise Yaku soon returned to his own chair, passing out bowls of food and cutlery for the contortionists. “You must have had quite a journey getting over here. I wouldn’t dare venture on a boat during this time of year myself.”

“It was a bit hectic.” Said Daishou, gratefully beginning to eat his dinner. “The seas were awful.”

“Indeed, some of us struggled to stay upright.” Hiroo added, his lips tweaking into a fleeting smirk when Sakijima glared with cheeks full of stew.

“Ah yes… your injuries looked quite bad, are you sure you’re alright?” Yaku sympathised, waiting for Sakijima to swallow his food.

“It hurts every now and then, but can’t expect much else. I’m gonna’ see one of your doctors tomorrow.”

“Good idea.”

 

 Satisfied, Yaku took to scanning the room as if searching for something, or someone rather.

“Will Alisa be joining us tonight, Lev?”

“Nah. She and Akane gone ta’ join the other girls.” Came the sloppy, wet response all the while Lev slurped on his food. Kuroo on the other hand, albeit almost splashed with Lev’s dinner, discovered a newfound sense of mischief, flashing a grin Yaku’s way.

“My how naughty, are you getting cosy with both siblings now?”

“I simply find her company more preferable.” Yaku scowled and drove his stare hard into his bowl of food in a bid to hide his reddening cheeks.

“I’m sure I’ve caught you kissing Lev once or twice.”

“That’s all it’s been.” Lev surprisingly intervened without a care in the world, “Nothin’ wrong with it, right? He can have Alisa if he wants.”

“ _Lev!_ ”

 Yaku’s eyes grew wide and he jerked his head in the direction of their newest acquaintances, torn between cursing Lev and speculating how terrible a first impression he’d just given. Far from his initial beliefs however they were anything but horrified, in fact they were exceptionally entertained by his feats.

“Are you dating siblings?” Sakijima teased, nudging the toe of his boot against Yaku’s shin. “What a bad, bad kitten. Make sure you treat them equally.”

“I’m not-!”

 “I think he is.” Said Hiroo, all too eager to join Sakijima in his lively interrogation, “That or you’re currently undecided as to which you’d like… Personally I’d assume you like the sister best.”

 “None of the above!” Yaku pressed, balling his hand into a fist. “I would much rather keep out of all forms of romantic engagement thank you very much.”

“You can still sleep with ‘em-”

“Enough.” Daishou spoke up at last, eyeing the other snakes, “Just because you’re both in a relationship doesn’t mean to say everyone else is. Or would like to be for that matter.”

“Thank goodness, someone with common sense.”

 Knowing when best to retire, Sakijima rolled his eyes and resumed eating, Hiroo likewise. Yaku on the other hand felt he was in good company with Daishou, and by all means, Kuroo’s own issues with the man were beyond him. Daishou struck Yaku to be a fairly sensible character, the sort to contemplate his actions before making a move.

 As far as relationships were concerned, Yaku reckoned it wise to keep his lips shut. Information regarding Mika, and her passing, were made known to some of the Cats as a result of accidental eavesdropping (aka Sugawara and Daichi’s loud outburst at Kuroo), and there was little to be gained in upsetting Daishou by dropping her name into conversation.

 

 “So how many are there in your group?” Daishou eventually piped up, dividing his focus between Yaku, his food and the newspaper he had since laid down upon the table.

“Quite a few. I write and perform as a musician, alongside Kai, Fukunaga, Shibayama and Inuoka. Extra help is outsourced if necessary.”

“I see. And the rest are floor performance or…?”

 Yaku shook his head, setting his spoon into his empty bowl with a light clatter. “Kenma and Kuroo solely co-write productions with Ennoshita, one of the Crows, and myself. Alisa and Akane, Tora’s sister, both assist wherever necessary.”

“And who is this Tora?”

“Fire performer, real good at it too.”

“Oh, nice.” Daishou gave a firm nod in approval, and Lev proceeded to make a disruption.

“Tora’s being unfair and won’t let me train with him.”

“It’s too dangerous. You’re hardly qualified to wield a matchstick, let alone learn to eat fire.” Yaku scolded the sullen cat at the other end of the table.

“Tora’s still being mean.”

“Tora also has ears.” A drained voice declared, before the man in question strode into the kitchen and over to the sink behind Lev, flicking the tap on.

 He was shirtless, as per usual, his torso littered with signs of old burns, scars and a thin layer of sweat which defined every curve and pull of his muscles when the light shone upon it. The single strip of blond hair upon his head was likewise damp and dishevelled to a degree which happened to look quite appealing, masculine even. Indeed, he was an abundance of testosterone compared to the scrawny cats scattered about the room, and those arms alone looked set to pop Lev’s head right off his shoulders, given the chance.

“Oi.” Sakijima kicked at Daishou’s leg for attention when his eyes became uncharacteristically large, and his jaw fell agape. The issue in question happened to be his spoon however, which missed his lips entirely and dripped stew all over the table as he gawked at the newcomer. “Eat properly you fucking child.”

“ _Shut up_.” Daishou snapped back to reality, and at his companion, hastily grabbing the cloth Yaku offered to wipe at the surface. Fortunately his behaviour had gone amiss to the majority, and Yaku soon cast his stare back in Tora’s direction.

“Did you burn yourself?”

“Nah, just got my hands dirty.” Tora explained, leaning sideward to peer into the nearby cooking pot. “Mind if I have some food?”

“Course not, it’s there for everyone.”

“Thanks.”

 With muttered greetings Hiroo tugged out the chair beside him for Tora to sit down, before he reached over to swipe the newspaper from right under Daishou’s nose.

“I was reading that.”

“Finish your food first.” Hiroo stated in a bored, yet carefree fashion as he lifted the paper in both hands to read.

 

 An awkward silence followed suit, as it often did between the Cats, and Tora surveyed each snake carefully whilst eating.

“I take it you’re the ne-”

“What the hell is your exercise routine?” Sakijima interrupted, batting the offending newspaper aside so that he could reach round Hiroo and grab Tora’s upper arm. “… Its pure muscle that!”

"W-Well yeah?" Tora stammered when his arm was seized in a swift and terrifying motion. Sakijima's distinct lack of care or awareness of personal space was something that didn't settle well with him in the slightest, and it was taking a stupendous level of patience not to throw the snake off his limb out of sheer embarrassment and horror. Contrary to whatever Sakijima believed, his being half naked was not, and never would be an invitation for the man to grab at him as he saw fit.

“Pray tell, what was his body supposed to consist of?” said a collected, disinterested Hiroo currently flattening out the crumpled tabloid. 

“Well I don’t know it could’ve been fat, I had to check.” Sakijima conceded, releasing his hold much to Tora's relief.

"Impossible."

"Oh I'm sorry, I didn't realise you were the expert on muscles!"

"It's fi-"

  _Fine,_ Tora wanted to say (even it was a lie), his eyes darting between each man as they exchanged cutting stares.

“Look at him, his chest is too toned for it to be fat.” Hiroo concluded matter-of-factly, enticing Daishou to lift his gaze at the point in question, located directly opposite him at the table.

 True enough, it _was_ toned. Sculpted by hours of practice and toil under the scorching heat to form a rather substantial pair of pectorals Daishou imagined Kuroo to be rather jealous of, judging by the cat’s own fixated stare.

“Might want to put some clothes on before you freeze.” Daishou remarked, wrinkling his nose at the bright and strangely innocent eyes that met his own. There was something kind, and ridiculously honest in those eyes, Daishou pondered for an instant, and it utterly betrayed his buff exterior.

“I’ll be alright, I don’t feel the cold that much.” Tora detailed, the change in topic proving to be a nice distraction compared to Sakjima's literal hands-on approach. Indeed Daishou did not strike him the sort to lash out with such little thought, but rather someone who preferred to bide his time, which albeit equally chilling, was not Sakijima. Anything but Sakijima was much more preferable at that precise moment in time.

 “How fortunate.” Daishou couldn’t supress his frustrations if his life depended on it, swallowing down the last of his stew with furrowed brows. It was one thing to be able to endure the chilly temperatures, but another to misinterpret Daishou’s sarcasm as a display of concern.

 “I just finished practice, so I guess that helps.” Tora shrugged his shoulders, then continued to eat as well.

 Daishou meanwhile had half a mind to assume Tora was nothing short of oblivious, shunting his bowl and cutlery aside to rest his arms against the table and observe the man, a smirk seeping its way over his skin all the while.

“You know, there’s a saying about people who play with fire…”

“Noted.” Tora laughed, flexing his left arm to highlight a long and jagged scar. It started on the inside of his upper arm, coiling over the muscle there to finish just above his elbow. “I got this one after an accident with the oil we were using for a trick, the stuff splashed out of its container and I used my arm to shield myself. And here,” He sat upright next, using his free hand to point out a few smaller streaks across his abdomen. “There’s where the remainder of it wound up. Stung like hell.”

“A shirt would’ve prevented that.”

“Gets in the way.”

“And here I thought you had some brains up in that head of yours.” Daishou sighed as he reclined in his seat, “Pity.”

“I’d rather get burnt than stick my head near my arse for a living.”

 With that Kuroo erupted into the fit of laughter he’d been withholding far too long, Lev spluttered on his stew, and Sakijima unhelpfully began to howl in amusement when he spied Daishou’s face twitch, and his smirk began to wane.

“He’s got a point! Perhaps you should switch jobs Dai, that way you won’t bitch about the cold anymore.”

“I’d like that.” Hiroo uttered, turning the page of his newspaper.

“Is he that bad?” Tora inquired, ignoring Daishou’s look of disgust altogether.

“He’s that bad.”

“Just like a real snake.” Kuroo finished with his trademark grin. “That’s their group name, by the way.”

 Tora simply nodded. “Seems appropriate.” 

 

“I’m kinda’ curious though…”

 Yaku groaned at the sound of Lev’s voice, anticipating nothing but disaster ahead.

“What is it?” Kuroo asked, awaiting Lev’s answer as he tilted his head in thought.

“If you can bend that much, then can you, you know…”

“Can I what?” said Daishou, evidently tired of playing as far as his weary tone was concerned.

“Can you do yourself a favour?”

“Lev no.” Yaku warned, shaking his head vigorously when Daishou quirked a brow his way. “Don’t ask, please. That’s rude.”

“What on earth is this all abo-”

“He’s asking if you can reach your dick. You know, save someone else the trouble.” Kuroo jibed when the snake’s face twisted into something of sheer revulsion, and booming laughs filled the room.

“Think of the neck ache you moron! Also why the fuck would we want to do that?!” Sakijima yelled amid the noise. Albeit entertaining to him, Hiroo in contrast remained impassive, slowly turning the next page of the tabloid.

“How vulgar.”

“Agreed.” Daishou grumbled, rolling the cloth he’d used to wipe the table into a tight ball before lobbing it at Tora’s face. He wasn’t laughing like the others, but he had smirked to himself before continuing to eat, and that simply rubbed the snake the wrong way.

 Hiroo didn’t so much as flinch or shift his gaze when Daishou hurled the cloth, nor when Tora tossed it aside with equal venom shortly after, presumably quite content in his bubble of sorts as he read the newspaper.

“The hell was that for?! They’re the ones who said it!!” Tora snapped, seemingly forgetting he had made the very first blow in the argument earlier on.

“I’m so sorry, my hand slipped.”

“Like hell it did!”

 Daishou’s apology reeked of falsities, and coupled with a widening smile his mannerisms were enough to make the devil proud. Or whoever it was the western people feared, Tora forgot such details. All that mattered was the unease stirring up violently in his stomach, and the hot prickling of his skin when those angled eyes targeted him, refusing to look elsewhere.

 

 

“Almost… move left a little more… There!”

 Bokuto readied himself as Komi tossed a small potato from afar which he then swiftly caught between his teeth, his efforts rewarded with a mixed response of awe, humour and Akaashi’s sigh in dismay.

“Please don’t hurl food about.”

“Seconded.” Konoha droned, giving Washio a nudge in his side when he caught the man smiling. Bokuto had carried out the act with far too much ease, raising suspicion that it wasn’t the first time he’d practiced doing so. “Don’t, you’ll encourage him.”

“It was rather funny.”

“See!” Komi waved his hands in Washio’s direction, “If he finds it funny, then it’s funny.”

“Washio’s word is not law.”

“And thank goodness yours isn’t either.” Sarukui scoffed before taking a swig of his drink, immune to the scowling and glare Konoha shot in response. Komi in the meantime prepped another potato and awaited Bokuto’s command, whilst Akaashi returned to his dinner plate, turning a blind eye to his partner’s shenanigans.

“Um… excuse me.”

“Yes?” Akaashi spoke kindly, meeting Onaga’s curious stare.

“I- well… what I mean to say is… is nobody else concerned by any of this?”

 The noise died down, Komi’s arm lowered whilst he and Bokuto stood up straight, and the remaining owls shuffled in their seats.

“Only a fool wouldn’t be.”

“It’s about as suspicious as it gets, all of this.” Konoha’s arm reached in a sweeping motion to their surroundings. The typically cluttered and stifling atmosphere of the meeting room had been cleared, and a fine spread of food and drink laid across the table in its place. Sugawara and Daichi had invited the Owls to dine there as a reward for all their efforts, and assured them that over the course of the next day or two, the other groups would be receiving the same treatment.

 “Things have been different ever since the night in the investigation room.” Akaashi’s gaze lifted from his plate to meet Sarukui’s, “Since the meeting in this very room, perhaps.”

“There’s no ‘perhaps’ about it, whichever way you view it.” Konoha pressed. He turned his attention to Bokuto next, “Correct me if I’m wrong, but I recall Kuroo rambling about certain incidents potentially being linked?”

“You heard right.” Bokuto exhaled and pulled out a chair, soon planting his arse snug in the seat with a muffled thud, “He’s always been like that… picking at all the little details, anything to find a connection. Besides 1898, he would look into any news which mentioned Easterners, like their trade routes, potential smuggling of goods, drugs, that sort of thing.”

“Sounds like the man’s become a walking archive on the subject,” Konoha lifted his brows, and his glass shortly after for a gulp of drink, “I’m sure Ukai’s delighted to have his assistance.”

“Looks that way.”

 Onaga announced his presence via the clearing of his throat, “Are you suggesting there’s a chance Ukai feels the same about all this? That 1898 is somehow linked with the factory business two years prior?”

“That’s ridiculous.” Komi scoffed, taking a seat beside Sarukui. “I mean sure, they both involved Easterners, but there’s not much else to go on. Nothing I can think of anyway.”

“Same here.” Sarukui spoke plainly, his eyes narrowing in thought. “It’s odd, more than anything. Maybe they-”

“Hold that thought.” Washio intervened with a palm raised. Several bangs were resounding beyond the door and fast approaching, footsteps most likely. “Back to dinner, now.”

 Sure enough Washio’s suspicions were correct, and by the time Sugawara’s head and jovial attitude found its way into the meeting room the Owls had collected themselves, returning his greetings in full.

“How’s the meal? Everything alright?”

“Perfect, thank you.” Said Konoha, his smile never faltering even when Daichi entered a moment later with Yamiji and Ukai in tow. “Apologies, I didn’t think we’d be receiving more company, we should’ve saved some food.”

“Not at all.” Daichi assured him, currently preoccupied in gathering more chairs which he then placed at the top end of the table. “We’ll stay and have a drink, if you don’t mind?”

 As if they had a choice, Konoha urged to retort, chewing on his lower lip whilst he observed the new arrivals making themselves comfortable.

“… Go ahead.”

 

 During that prolonged, almost choking quiet Bokuto wished he had Kuroo’s knack for words. To be able to scan the abundance of vocabulary and pluck from it intelligent phrases that would aid the situation. Alas he was not Kuroo, nor did he possess an ounce of tact, therefore the Bokuto method would have to do.

“It’s kinda tense in here.” He initiated, “I thought we were having a party?”

 Unimpressed by the insight Daichi tightened his grip on the tumbler in his hand, and a half smile pulled at the side of his mouth. “Not all parties are loud, Bokuto. You’ll do well to remember that.”

“And you’ll do well to recall he is not a child.” Akaashi snapped, his cutlery clattering to his empty plate. “In fact he is the same age as yourself, is he not?”

“I-”

 It was beyond the Owls as to how the scenario would play out. Konoha could barely keep his jaw shut, and the other voice of reason, Washio, was likewise dumbfounded by Akaashi’s display.

“That he is.” Daichi eventually accepted to their relief, bowing his head in apology. “Then I suppose we should also refrain from causing further unease, and discuss what we came here for.”

“We aren’t looking for trouble.” Sugawara piped up, which given previous events meant the total opposite. Whether or not they intended to cause harm, one way or another, it would be done. “Look, I… I want to keep this brief. I’m sure you feel like this is some kind of set up…”

“Is it not?” Washio pressed.

“Yes and no.”

“Meaning?”

 Daichi placed a hand over Sugawara’s beneath the table, giving it a soft squeeze before taking the lead to explain. “Meaning that this meal was intended to thank you for your hard work, for everything you’ve done for us these past few years.”

“That sounds rather… conclusive.” Konoha detailed.

“It is.” Daichi swallowed hard, “We… As per… no let me try again… a-after Ukai brought his knowledge to us… we decided it best that the next show is to be your last.”

“ _What?!_ ”

 Ukai felt no need to disguise the rolling of his eyes, and the shake of his head he cast in Yamiji’s direction. “Nicely done…”

“You’re kidding, right?” Komi retorted between mouthfuls of food, all too willing to speak on his group’s behalf, “What kind of ‘logic’ lead you to decide we should be thrown out?!”

“It’s not like that!” Sugawara urged, “You’re not being thrown out, and there’s nothing to say that it’ll be permanent, but after the upcoming show I need you to take temporary leave. A holiday if you will.”

“Why?!”

“Because you’re all in danger, you little shits.”

“Ukai!” Yamiji scolded, the man in question simply raising a brow as he chugged down his drink.

“I’m not wrong.”

 

 “What does he mean we’re all in danger?” Konoha asked when the mood became marginally better. “I understand if you have concerns for Bokuto or Akaashi, but the rest of us-”

 “Are just as much at risk, I’m afraid.” Came the calm response from Yamiji, who in turn wordlessly commanded Ukai to still his tongue, even for a moment. “What my friend here fails to address is how grateful we are for your co-operation in the investigations, and for pursuing a good life despite all that has happened. I have no reason to doubt the troubles you have endured these past years.”

 “Yamiji, you’re avoiding the point.” Ukai warned, receiving a glare in reply.

“Quiet, you’ll have your turn to speak.”

 A lengthy breath sounded in surrender, and Ukai motioned for a refill of his drink.

 “As I was saying,” Yamiji resumed, somewhat delighted at having silenced a man so keen to maintain absolute authority, “There’s a lot to it, but in short we have reason to believe that whilst 1898 is unresolved you cannot continue to expose yourselves to the public eye, or at least the crowds you draw to this establishment.”

“You mean wealthy pricks?” Komi snorted.

“A rather blunt choice of words, but yes. Them.”

“Makes sense, I guess.” Komi finished, shrugging his shoulders as he glanced to his companions. “Though it doesn’t explain why we’re all at risk, however you wanna’ put it. If Bokuto’s old boss, the one Akaashi didn’t actually kill, is likely to show his face, won’t he go after them alone?”

“You forget about association, you five are their friends-”

“That doesn’t mean a thing, the two of them have a lot of friends. You might as well pack the Roost up altogether if that’s the logic you’re working with.”

“Please understand,” Sugawara butted in with a great deal of haste, “Like we said, this isn’t a permanent thing-”

“Oh for goodness sake.” Ukai hissed, setting his tumbler down on the table. “Be honest with them will you?!”

“But-!”

“Go on.” Ukai encouraged Yamiji, whose head was hung forward with a solemn expression, “I’m not good at the nice act, so do me the honours.”

 This time Yamiji did not refuse.

 

“The boys in the Plants group… they left here the other night to carry out investigation work, with Ukai’s permission of course. One lot visited the mansion ruins, the other Stoker’s factory. The evidence they found is proof enough that you are all in danger.”

“Sorry?” Konoha very nearly spat his drink out over the table, and a distracted Akaashi, grabbing a nearby napkin to stop himself.

“Explain.” Washio demanded in his place, obviously angered by the latter detail. “They’re on completely different sides of Vol, what could possibly connect the-”

“Knives.” Ukai chipped in, turning his gaze to Bokuto and Akaashi. “They found a knife just like the one Webb owns in that factory.”

“It could be a coincidence-”

“It can’t.” said Akaashi, his voiced strained in hesitation, “Those knives aren’t given to just anyone. They’re proof of membership.”

“To what?” Washio stated softer now, wary of Akaashi’s nerves.

“You recall the people I said visited the mansion we were kept in?”

“Of course. All upper class, nobility even?”

“Yes. They were all part of a group that… well…”

“They’ve got a sick interest in Easterners, put it that way.” Ukai picked up the conversation from there on. “I’m sure I don’t need to elaborate.”

 Certainly there was no need, Washio reasoned inwardly, glancing to his fellow companions from his factory days out of habit. “Then… Stoker and Webb are acquaintances, perhaps?”

“I believe so.” Ukai replied with a grave air about him. “Or maybe not, one can only assume they’ve at least met, if they’re part of this association after all. Thus in short, you’re connected.”

 Needless to say, that left little room for the Owls to establish a counter-argument, and in time Konoha took up the reins again, his voice dulled by the less than pleasant revelation.

 

“So when will we leave…?”

“After the next show, as planned.” Sugawara spoke gently, mustering all the reassurance possible, “You’ll be living in Ukai, Yamiji and Nekomata’s home to the north of the city, with Yamiji in charge of your safety. It’ll be better than remaining here, that’s for certain.”

“And this is only until the case is solved?”

“Cases,” Ukai stressed, “I’m dragging both Stoker and Webb to court one way or another.”

“Very well.” Konoha concluded on behalf of the Owls upon spying no objections. “Was there anything else you wished to discuss with us?”

“… There is one thing.”

 When the gathering shifted their focus back to Yamiji, Konoha felt tempted to applaud his ability to disappear in the shadow of a conversation so soon. Why, it was shamefully easy to forget the man with a presence like Ukai stomping about.

“I’m aware they have practice schedules, but I’d like for the Owls to visit my workplace.”

“That’s sudden.” Daichi interrupted, apparently having found his voice and a pair of balls at long last. “There’s only a couple of days left until the show, can it not wait?”

“I’d rather it didn’t.” Yamiji said coolly, “I’ve barely had time to speak with these boys, all they know of me is my profession, and whatever impressions they have of me now. Give us an afternoon to conduct proper greetings, that’s all I ask.”

“We can’t-”

“We can.” Sugawara finished his partner’s sentence. “On one condition.”

 “Anything.” Yamiji replied, unaware of the rising tension amongst the Owls, namely Akaashi who had taken to twisting his own fingers with reckless abandon, presumably at the mere thought of stepping beyond the front doors.

“They haven’t spent much time outside the Roost, for fear of the people largely. If they do not wish to go, then you cannot force them.”

“Understood.”

 Truth be told Sugawara considered himself fortunate to be in the company of Yamiji, or rather, that he wasn’t another Ukai, granting the man a kind smile. “Thank you. Then we’ll arrange this outing of yours for tomorrow, shall we? Anybody interested in a little day trip shall meet you in the Hall by eleven o’ clock.”

“Are you certain it’s not a problem?”

“Yes, yes, I’m sure. Now let’s wrap this up, we’ve kept the Owls here long enough.”

 “Indeed, it’s late.” Ukai remarked, beckoning for the group to rise from their seats with a hand. “We’ll catch up with you all again after the show, until then, make the most of your time here, alright?”

 Heaven forbid what the Roost owners, Ukai and Yamiji wanted the Owls to say to that. Granted a thanks might have been in order given their generosity, but it was proving difficult when their announcement had been delivered like a brick to the face. At the very least Washio managed a grunt and a bow of his head, something akin to ‘alright’ falling from his lips whilst he waited for the rest of his friends to leave the room.

“And make sure to get some rest.” Daichi advised, his efforts returned with another impassive grunt from Washio before he too stepped outside, tugging the door shut behind him.

 It would require a great deal more than well-wishing and smiles to lift the Owl’s spirits, but in time, they would understand Ukai’s good intentions and purpose for having them leave, or so Daichi hoped.

Life had a funny habit of never quite going his way, after all.

 

 From there on each step through the Hall, each critical insight expressed under laboured breaths formed an ominous sensation to linger over the Owls’ heads. It stifled their previous optimism, and the pride they currently held in their work, for what purpose had all that effort served? True, a solid performance would bring in the customers, and subsequently the money, but would the Owls be rewarded likewise?

They begged to differ, quite frankly.

 Be that as it may, their chances of discovering the answers they desired were beyond reach. More to the point, it was inappropriate to be talking figures and payment, given Sugawara and Daichi’s reluctance to bring up the topic of their leaving in the first place. Undoubtedly they shared in the confusion the Owls felt, and maybe… just maybe, they too held a dislike for the idea, and hoped that a more pleasant alternative could be offered. Not to say that a brief holiday was a terrible option of course, but regardless, the Owls would prefer to be in work than tucked away under the shelter of a detective’s home, hiding from whatever threats may be in pursuit of them.

 Then there was the matter of the impending trip. Be it a couple of hours, or an entire day, it certainly was sudden of Yamiji to make the offer and, without meaning to offend, somewhat senseless. All the good intentions combined could not counter the reality that some Owls had not, and would not leave the Roost for lengthy durations. 

 Nonetheless the route around that significant problem was likewise slim, hence the huddle of seven refrained from discussing it during their travels back to the Dorms, and the several flights of stairs that awaited them. Even at the very top, they murmured strangely polite and distant ‘goodnights’ then retreated to their respective rooms, the clicks of the closing doors muffled by the creaking of floorboards, and the whistling winds circulating outside.

 

“Are you sure you don’t mind? Staying here with me I mean?”

 An expression of utter bewilderment slapped itself to Bokuto’s face when Akaashi eventually spoke from behind one of the draping curtains located close to his bedroom door. It was a mystery to Bokuto as to why he had them to be honest, they got in the way and often snagged and bunched up amidst the piles of books Akaashi additionally conveyed no will to move. They were a nuisance, in short.

 “Of course I don’t. I’m happy you wanted the company.” Bokuto reasoned, staring at the long stretches of fabric which rippled and folded in tune to Akaashi’s movements. “Besides, we’re together now, right…? So it’s ok.”

 An entertained hum followed in response, and Akaashi finally revealed himself from the cloth labyrinth. “That’s true. I only wanted to check, to make sure it’s not troublesome.”

 Really now, and to think Akaashi thought Bokuto had an odd line of reasoning…

 

 “Well it’s not, and never will be.” Bokuto pressed at last, clapping his palms to his own upper thighs before rising from his seat beside the cluttered desk to kick off his boots. The notion of sleep was very welcome to him in that moment, and the sooner he could curl up and close his eyes, the better. Once the boots were gone (and neatly set to one side) Bokuto then planted his arse on the bed, looking to a hesitant Akaashi with a quirked brow. 

“You alright?”

 It took a mere fraction of a second, the time in which Akaashi’s fingers began to fidget in fact, for Bokuto to establish otherwise. Carefully then, in light of the situation, he produced a kind smile, extending a hand in due course. “It’ll be like last night, ok? If you get uncomfortable I can sleep on the floor and-”

“No, I…” Akaashi forced down a lump in his throat, “Do you think we could… you know… maybe not worry about the clothes or anything tonight?”

 “You mean sleep naked?” Bokuto exclaimed, his jaw becoming slack. “I-I well, you- it’s no… wait. Fuck.”

 The hissed curse was enough to conjure a laugh from Akaashi, until he too sat upon the bed. “Apologies. If it’s an issue we can stay like this, only I find it can get rather uncomfortable sleeping in day time clothing.” 

“Agreed.” Bokuto blurted, coaxing his nerves away with a loud and shaky chuckle of his own. “Yeah, yeah, we can do that then. I’ll turn round if you want whilst you change and- oh never mind you’re doing it…!”

“How old are you…?”

 

 All his previous faults aside, Akaashi had to confess Bokuto’s bizarre display of embarrassment was rather endearing. The majority of souls wouldn’t have thought twice about seeing him undress, or doing the job themselves for that matter, yet here the poor owl was, sitting on his bed with palms clapped over his eyes like a child, swearing, promising he wasn’t going to do anything bad. Furthermore Bokuto’s rare abundance of patience was a remarkable, respectable trait, for he did not so much as peek a glimpse at the other all the while the bed shifted beneath their weight, and the sound of fabric rustled behind him.

“I’m done.” Akaashi eventually put the man out of his misery, laying down with the bed sheets pulled up to his chest. Taking Bokuto’s generosity into consideration he was about to offer the very same, offer to close his eyes perhaps, yet within seconds the daft sod was stripping off his clothes, tossing them aside with an equal lack of care.

“I’m alright.” He spoke up, bouncing and flailing about the bed until he too was beneath the covers, soon grinning at Akaashi in glee. “You’ve seen me shirtless before anyways.”

“True, but you saw a great deal of my body that morning you came to wake me up with breakfast, remember?” 

 Of course Bokuto remembered. Such a pleasant sight, and the amusement of a hungover Akaashi could never escape his memory.

“Good point.”

“I want that side, though.”

“Huh?”

 Akaashi pointed his index finger to the half of the bed where Bokuto lay. “I’d rather be there. It’d feel safer, if I were between you and the wall, that is.”

“Oh.”

 

 _If you want something done, do it yourself_ , Akaashi recalled Sugawara advising him one summer’s afternoon when Daichi had been particularly unhelpful. Though it had been used in an entirely different context than the owl’s current situation, the fact remained, and judging by the intense red washing over Bokuto’s neck and face, he would not find it in himself to shift anytime soon. No, it was up to Akaashi, in one very bold move, to hurl the covers back altogether and climb over the idiot before landing beside him with a soft thump.

“There.”

 A noise akin to a strangled whine in shame left Bokuto’s throat when he was finished, and he clapped a hand to his forehead. “Sorry, you must think I’m an idiot. Getting embarrassed like this.”

“It’s a little odd.” Akaashi confessed, giving the back of Bokuto’s hand a gentle peck, “But you’re respectful, I can’t deny that.” 

“And that’s ok?”

“More than ok.” Came a reassuring tone whilst Akaashi shifted to pull up the covers, the soft cotton and woollen blankets providing a cosy warmth for the pair. “I understand you’re worried, what with my dislike for attention from others… but you’re not those people, Koutarou.” 

“I know.”

“Then at least look at me, hold me already. We managed just fine last night.” 

“We weren’t naked then.”

“But we are now, and you’ll have to get on with it.” Akaashi pressed with increasing determination, tugging Bokuto’s hand from his face. “Now please, relax will you? I would’ve thrown you out long ago if any of this was a problem.” 

 A solid argument, Bokuto reasoned internally, then brought the other into his arms. It was from there on that silence prevailed once more, and Bokuto turned his gaze skywards, running fingers through small curls of dark hair. In fact now that he took the time to listen carefully, the room was truly devoid of noise. The winds had since died down, and the usually rowdy neighbouring owls were calm.

“I thought they’d be banging around next door.” Bokuto snorted under his breath, forever cautious of the paper-thin walls. “Or you know…”

“I know.” Sounded an unmistakable snicker which complimented the shaking of Akaashi’s shoulders. “I reckon they’re tired, so be grateful.”

“Maybe the news of leaving bothered them. Or the thought of going outside.” Bokuto proposed next, pinpointing the precise moment wherein Akaashi’s body tensed, and his head lifted so that their eyes could meet.

“… That is a possibility. I know Washio has gone out in the city on occasion, Saru and Komi too, but Konoha is rather protective of them doing so... It’s beyond me if they have their own fears, but I suspect they might.”

“Yeah.”

 A sigh followed suit, and Akaashi began to shuffle in a bid to get comfortable. This time however he adopted a strikingly courageous approach, laying on top of the other owl so that he could no longer avoid his gaze. “Is that why you’re being quiet yourself? Are you concerned about me going out tomorrow?”

“Well of course.” Bokuto quipped, unsure where to put his hands until Akaashi yanked them into position around his waist somewhere beneath the bedsheets. “Whether Webb is in Morne or not, I get that you’ve avoided going outside for a good reason. The people are pretty shit out there.”

“That they are.” Akaashi conceded via a light chuckle. “I’m… I suppose I should be worried too, but I think I can give it a try. Yamiji seems very nice, and after all, you’ll be there, won’t you?”

“Yeah but I’m not a miracle worker. I can’t make things better just like that.”

“Yes you can.”

“Akaashi-”

“Oh shh.” Akaashi shut the negativity down with a soft, yet commanding kiss, but of course it would not, and did not, remain just that.

 Indeed Bokuto had barely touched his partner (beyond the plethora of hugs permitted the night Konoha tended to his wound) but already he had learnt the man was capable of claiming what he wanted, given the chance. Take the morning just gone for example, wherein the mere sight of Bokuto’s fluffy mop of hair did something exceptional up in Akaashi’s head, and swiftly lead to the owl littering his neck and face with loving pecks. Not that Bokuto disliked the attention, far from it, but it had been unexpected, to say the least.

 

 “Are you certain this is alright…?” Bokuto probed between kisses, torn between the distraction there and Akaashi’s hands at his wrists yet again, pulling them and encouraging them to shift of their own accord.

“I’m certain.” Came a stern tone, “You can touch me how you like. In fact I suggest you do.”

“But-”

 _But isn’t it too soon? Wouldn’t you rather wait?_ Those were a snippet of the considered, compassionate thoughts swimming about Bokuto’s head in that instant, ready to make themselves known. After all, the very imagery of Akaashi’s time in that mansion, surrounded by those western bastards set a twinge of anxiety in him too, and by no means did he want to overstep the mark. Suffice to say however those thoughts were to remain just that, wordless, kind ideals and possibilities abruptly interrupted by Akaashi’s fingertips brushing dangerously close to his groin, and fully rendering him a babbling mess when they reached their target.

“A-Akaashi?”

“There’s no harm in a little bit of touching.” Akaashi confirmed, planting another tender kiss to his lips before moving at last so they could lay side by side. “It won’t ruin us, or this moment, understand?”

“Yeah but-”

 Whatever complaint Bokuto sought to make could wait, and was much better lost amidst the deep and fulfilling moan resounding from his throat when Akaashi commenced some rather outstanding handiwork below. It was too good, dare Bokuto say it, and left him curious as to whether his partner ever indulged himself privately from time to time. As practice, or something of the sort. Realistically, Akaashi simply felt he had no use for words, and often found peace in physical actions over constant chattering. Indeed, there was something considerably satisfying in bringing pleasure with mere touch.

 The right pressure, the right place… with basic precision Akaashi teased the muscles of Bokuto’s body tight, and had him arching from the bed in a beautiful fashion. The experimental pinch to a nipple was by far his favourite however, for it came not only with wild and erratic writhing, but a hot and delighted cry which Akaashi drank up greedily like a tonic. Given time, Akaashi whole-heartedly believed those moans could pull him in a drunken stupor (provided they had not done so already), a soothing trance to see them both off into a good night’s sleep, away from the tension of the Roost, and whatever dared to show it’s ugly face come the light of day.

 Thankfully, the bliss had also rendered Bokuto blind to the banging of a fist against the wall closest to their heads, forming a small, not so subtle warning that for once it was Akaashi making too much noise, and preventing others from sleep. As for how he would respond… well, Akaashi had two options.

 He could stop right there, leave poor Bokuto a horny mess and go to sleep, or, he could recall the many sleepless nights he had had prior to Bokuto’s arrival. All those times where even squeezing a pillow tight around his head could not stifle the torrent of lewd noises… and those times where no matter how much he knocked against the wall the pair beyond would ignore him, being the teasing shits they were.

 “Why am I even thinking on it…?” Akaashi uttered beneath a breath at last, his lips tweaking into a smirk shortly after. Without a moment’s delay he devoted one hand solely to Bokuto’s groin, whilst the second pinched at his chest every now and then to produce a mash of pleasured screams and incoherent, persistent moaning of his name (whenever Akaashi wasn’t claiming those lips with his own). Truth be told Akaashi supposed it was rather relentless, a fraction overwhelming on his partner possibly, but the sight of the man beneath him was nothing short of erotic, and knowing that he was the sole cause of this attractive phenomena filled him with a substantial degree of pride, and absolute adoration for his partner. What’s more, he had at last discovered a use for Bokuto’s loud mouth, and goodness, he intended to exploit it to the fullest... Even for the sake of petty revenge.

 


	20. Coal

 Tora knew that he would be alone when he awoke the following morning, because he chose to be.

 In line with their namesake the Cats schedules were spontaneous, closely rivalling that of the Owls. One moment they would be together discussing an upcoming show, and in the next a cat would slink away, never to be seen nor heard from until a few days later. Even upon their return none would question the person’s intentions, or where they went.

 Sugawara and Daichi considered it a symbol of the group’s trust, but Tora did not agree. As a collective they weren’t remotely close, acquaintances at best, with the Roost and it’s never ending charade as their common ground.

 In another time, another life if you will, Tora reckoned it might have been different… but there was no changing the facts. He would have to make do with his situation, whether he liked it or not.

 

 All their musical prowess aside, the Cats’ leaders, Kai and Yaku, were kind to a fault. The former in particular did not wish to tread on people’s toes, and therefore kept the majority of his opinions tucked neatly in the back of his mind, masked by that pleasant, constant smile. As for Yaku, he adopted a more verbal, sincere approach, but he too had a penchant for backing off when it came to his group. After all, save for the Crows very few people had had an easy start in the West, hence collectively the pair opted against conversation which stirred up uncomfortable memories.

 Regrettably, such behaviour condemned Tora to a rather lonely existence. No matter how many failed games of chess he endured with Kenma, or how many hours he spent with Inuoka or Fukunaga attempting to play an instrument, he could only encourage them to speak so much. Talk of the Yamamoto siblings’ past was taboo for the Cats, supressed at every given chance, so on no occasion did Tora feel comfortable to confide in another regarding his concerns, nor would they question him on the subject.

 Tora envied the Owls in that respect. Albeit cursed with a multitude of issues, and differing backgrounds, they were not alone.

 On the other hand, Tora was thankful for Nishinoya and Tanaka, and that he was not the sole fire performer of the establishment. Above all he deemed them his closest companions, endlessly eager to have him speak his mind, to shoulder his troubles and offer their support, and for that reason too Tora wondered why on earth he was a part of the Cats, and not the Crows.

 Nevertheless it was pointless to dwell on such topics. Tora was well aware he could do little to alter his circumstances, which is why he decided to pay interest to the Cats and their routines instead, and why he willed himself to wake up at precisely quarter to seven every day. It was neither too early, nor too late, and by maintaining such a schedule he could successfully avoid all of his companions, specifically any awkward conversations they might initiate in a sleepy state.

 

 Even during winter, in the most unforgiving of weather, Tora found some peace in rising so early. There was a definite chill in the air, true, but provided you didn’t mind the cold all that much it was rather refreshing. The lack of sunlight, yet to cast itself through the hallway (and thus rendering Tora’s eyesight useless) was also an issue, but he did not need such assistance. Dark or not, he knew the floorboards well enough to tread with caution; to pace three steps forward and avoid the upcoming dodgy plank which fed from the corridor and under the door to Yaku’s room.  It had a horrible habit of screaming under the slightest of pressure, and by all means, Tora did not wish to wake that grumpy cat up too early. He also knew that the muffled bangs from above were signs of stirring Owls, and not those of ghostly activity, as some of his peers had stupidly assumed one eerie December morning last year. Granted, the noises had scared Tora too to begin with (a fact he did not care to admit aloud), as had the Dorms’ tendency to groan and creak in the violent winds, but in time he learned, and he adjusted.

 What Tora had yet to adapt to however was the possibility that his morning could be interrupted, but then there was a first time for everything.

 

 Upon creeping his way to the staircase Tora could clearly distinguish a rabble of voices coming from the floor below, the most prominent being Oikawa’s high pitched shrieks amidst Iwaizumi’s deep and consistent droning. Undoubtedly they were having a quick spat over Iwaizumi’s exercise routine, namely his desire to go outside for a run without a shred of care for the frosty temperature. Tora was on Oikawa’s side as far as that issue was concerned, but it was way too early to be throwing himself into any form of socialising, let alone a quarrel between those two, of all people.

 Without a shadow of a doubt he confirmed the most sensible plan would be to turn a blind eye to their antics altogether, grab himself a coffee, and mentally prepare for whatever drama lay ahead. So with that goal in mind he walked on, bare feet patting against the floor to an unknown beat in the direction of the kitchen, where the second disturbance of the day awaited him.

 Or not, depending on how the scene played out.

 

 Gathering an admirable level of self-control, Tora stifled a laugh upon spying a ridiculous ball of fur slumped against the kitchen table, its lustre emphasised in the sunlight coursing through the windows. Presumably Daishou was nestled somewhere in the glowing, fluffy cocoon, consisting of one coat which he used as a blanket, and the other folded up into a makeshift pillow.  

 It was a mystery as to why he had decided to sleep in the kitchen, or how he could afford not one, but two luxurious items of clothing, but Daishou was what he was, and Tora knew better than to judge a person too soon.

 

 Perhaps there wasn’t enough space in the Snakes room, Tora pondered on his way to the stove to boil some water. Three people in such a tiny area, and with one bed to boot, didn’t seem all that pleasant. In fact it struck just enough sympathy within him that he had half a mind to give up his own bed, should they want it.

“Goodness me, he found a shirt...”

 Albeit lagging with exhaustion, the sarcasm lacing Daishou’s tone had Tora expel a weighty breath, and set a metal pan down on the hobs with a hefty clunk. The comment itself wasn’t the problem, merely the notion of his silence, and his hopes for a peaceful hour or two by himself, being ruined.

“… Morning.”

“I see you omitted the ‘good’ in that sentence. I’m glad. It’s not a good morning.” Daishou detailed bolder then, wriggling about so that his head and shoulders were visible from the pile of fur, “Are you making coffee?”

“Perhaps.”

“There’s no perhaps about it. You’re either making coffee or you are not. Which is it?”

“Weren’t you asleep?” Tora deliberated with tongue clicking in frustration when lo and behold, he’d forgotten to put water in the pan.

“I should think that obvious. Now then, back to the question I asked you.”

 “Yes, I am making coffee.” Tora stated, adding emphasis to the first word as he yanked the sink tap on and quickly filled the container partway. “… Would you like one?”

“That’d be lovely.” Came the sing-song response whilst Daishou moved to lay back in his chair and tug his coat around him tight. Fortunately for him, Tora was nowhere close to being in the right mind-set to retaliate, or so help him he’d probably have been removed from the kitchen by that point.

 Be that as it may, it did not repress his urge to poke the fire (aka Tora) a little more, and so he spent a good time thereafter simply observing the fire performer, biding time whilst he prepared their drinks.

 

“You’re looking very smart today.”

 _Too smart_ , Daishou added internally, muttering a thanks when Tora set his coffee cup down on the table at last. He had settled for an ensemble of plain charcoal trousers and dark leather braces that sat nicely upon his broad shoulders, contrasting the crisp white shirt underneath which undoubtedly barely saw the light of day, and was reserved for special occasions. It wasn’t a terrible look, but it was unbefitting of Tora’s oddly raw and honest personality. Curtly put, going shirtless suited him much better.

“No practice today then?” Daishou elaborated when Tora offered a meagre grunt and shrug of those impressive shoulders whilst walking to the door. He was determined to get halfway out the room before Daishou could so much as blink, let alone devise further witty insights.

“Later. I have a meeting to go to first but s’not for a couple of hours. Now if you’ll excuse me-”

 “You’re off already?”

 Daft curiosity had Tora stop in his tracks with furrowed brows. “I thought you’d like some time to yourself, since you’ve just woken up.”

“Thoughtful, but no. Come sit down.”

“But I have a me-”

“A meeting yes, yes. Though it’s not for a couple of hours, or so you said.” Daishou pressed, jabbing his index finger at the chair opposite. “Now sit.”

 Only a genius could explain why Tora hadn’t walked out yet, or why his feet were betraying the complaints in his head and carrying him to the seat in question, but there he was soon settled into place, eyeing the snake patiently.

“You don’t have to look quite so inconvenienced.”

“Sorry.” Tora uttered, sitting up straight and putting his cup on the table. In the meantime Daishou diverted his own stare to take a sip of his drink, before lowering the mug and giving no implication whatsoever as to how it tasted.

“Is it alright…?”

“It’s _strong_.” Daishou dragged his words out for effect. Gradually he cracked a smirk and took the liberty of roaming his eyes over Tora’s physique once more, mapping every fold and pull of his shirt which, for the record, was far too small in size his own good. So small that Daishou suspected it was in fact borrowed, or that the idiot was too concerned in bulking up his figure to realise he’d likewise have to accommodate the muscles with bigger clothes.

“I like it.”

“… I see.”

“Really now, you’re nothing like I imagined.” Daishou failed to hide the emotion pulling his voice. Was it disappointment, or boredom…? Tora had yet to understand, but fortunately whatever it was, it had ended Daishou’s gawking, a habit which felt horribly akin to Sakijima and his need to grab Tora’s body so abruptly.

“Sorry.”

“No you’re not. Honestly, look at you! I thought you’d be far more aggressive, probably rip someone’s throat out given the chance.”

“I might.” Tora contemplated the proposal with a soft smile, “You’d have to push me far though.”

“Precisely. I anticipated something more… relentless, if you will.” Daishou’s hand slowly drifted this way and that during his explanation, his gaze turned skywards meanwhile. “Despite all that meat on you you’re practically soft-”

“And you’re pushing it.”

“It’s true though. Get angry will you?”

 Tora quirked a brow. “D’you like picking fights with people?”

“Only with those I hate, or find interesting. You fall in the latter category.”

“What an honour...” Tora scoffed, “I assume Kuroo would be the former?”

“Oh, you _are_ a clever one,” Daishou sniggered in delight, “Of course he is. I can’t imagine how you’ve put up with such an insufferable character all this time.”

“He’s not that bad.”

“Not bad for a piece of shit, you mean?”

 No, it was far from what Tora meant, but he’d already given up trying to correct the snake and his opinions since yesterday. Quite frankly he’d given up on that particular conversation as well, breaking out into a lengthy yawn and stretching both arms high above his head.

 

“So… why were you-”

“What was your name again…? Tori?”

 Tora paused with arms still raised, blinking fast in disbelief. He sincerely hoped it to be another joke, but a lingering doubt in his mind, and Daishou’s demeanour spoke otherwise. Not that it was a huge surprise to him however, despite his fairly unique appearance people often forgot him with ease, especially in the company of certain attention seeking cats.

“Your name,” Daishou repeated, waving a hand in front of Tora’s eyes to grasp his focus, “what is it?”

“Taketora, but Yamamoto to you.”

“Aha so it was Tora-”

“Only to those who know me.” Tora grumbled, lowering his arms.

“I know you.”

“Not long enough to be that familiar.”

“Too bad, I prefer Tora. Yamamoto sounds too stiff for my liking, even if it does suit your attitude right now.” Daishou proceeded without a single care, writing the name against the surface of the table with a fingertip. “Mm… yes, tiger does seem appropriate, given your looks. We’ll need to work on the wild thing though, you really are a tame one all things considered.”

“I’m happy as I am, thank you.”

“See here, this is your problem… you’re too nice.”

 

_Too nice…?_

 

 Tora refused to indulge that perception right away, folding his arms across his chest. People like Daishou were an enigma in their own right, sure, but it didn’t take an intellect to unravel their intentions, their desire to provoke and conjure a reaction from their target through whatever means necessary.

“… I dunno’ why that’s a problem.” He spoke coolly via careful consideration. Not that it was required mind you, for Daishou had similarly calmed his tongue in the duration of hush that followed suit, and was leaning forward in his chair to close the gap between them, even by a little.

“People will take advantage of that. It’s not hard.”

 _Spoken from experience?_ Tora felt compelled to retort, but again withheld conducting hasty judgement. Irrespective of the snide comments, the utter disregard and lack of respect the snake exhibited towards him and how he wished to be called, Tora couldn’t bring himself to respond with a similar venom. Put it down to years of being misunderstood, being yelled at or threatened by fear stricken strangers when he was only trying to assist them. Or perhaps down to more recent events, when he joined the Roost two years back and was viewed by its current inhabitants with open mouths and hushed, critical whispers. He had not received a warm welcome in the slightest, only an abundance of speculation and suspicion concerning who he was, or rather _what_ he had been before joining the establishment. 

 The very memory prompted him to groan and cup his head in his hands, with both elbows propped against the table for support. Maybe Daishou was right about the nice part after all.

“Something tells me it’s already happened, on several occasions too…” Daishou spoke softly in light of his company’s abruptly tumbling mood, “I blame the people you put up with, personally. I don’t doubt they admire what you do here, but I can’t see much else between you all besides respect.”

“You haven’t been here a day and yet you’re already making assumptions.”

“Assumptions that are indeed fact.” Daishou indicated firmly, scrutinising Tora with his gaze when he at last lifted his head from his hands. “Between you and me… I understand where you’re coming from. Sometimes we put up with things we shouldn’t, people we shouldn’t, because it seems like the only way we might be appreciated-”

“I’m not talkin’ about this.” Came the swift, almost desperate response which, for all it was worth, managed to stall Daishou before he reluctantly dropped the case in its entirety.

“… Very well. Feel free to bring it up again when you're ready.”

“Why would I?” Tora asked bluntly, more so out of confusion than any form of anger or irritation. “I barely know you, no offense.”

“None taken.” Said Daishou, blatantly lying. “But put it this way… I reckon I’m the only person living on this floor who will give you the time of day to rant and moan as you wish.”

“That’s not-”

“ _Not true?_ Of course not, never is, is it?”

“I…”

“Forget it.” Daishou sighed once more, utterly bored in an instant, “The offer’s there. Carry on with your bland and lonely ways if it pleases you.”

“What…?”

 Tora hadn’t the faintest clue how to handle Daishou. One moment he was outright rude (observant to put it politely, but still crass in how he delivered his findings) the next he would act as if Tora had been nothing short of vindictive towards him. It certainly made Tora curious to say the least, venturing as to whether Daishou had always been such a handful, or whether it was a manifestation of whatever tension had come between him and Kuroo in their younger years. 

 

“You know…” Tora began after a minute or two, glancing downwards in thought, “It’s almost as if you’re the one who wants company.”

“Come again?”

 Tora lifted his eye level, then shrugged. “Just sayin’ how it looks. Dunno’ why else you’d be keen to talk to me, or at least hear me out.”

“Oh… really?” Daishou deadpanned, crumbling by the second into a harsh laughter when the other nodded with an oblivious display of pride. “ _Really,_ you are something else!”

“You said it yourself, you know what it’s like to stay silent and put up with things you shouldn’t-”

 Much to Tora’s dismay Daishou was long gone, enraptured by glee and a fit of chuckles which showed no signs of stopping. “To think… I believed the only chance of fun I’d have living here would be to rip Kuroo to shreds, but you- you’re incredibly interesting. I think your fellow kittens are missing out big time!”

“Are you taking the piss?”

“Yes, and no.”

 _That’d be a yes,_ Tora gathered with a heavy outward breath, resting his chin in the palm of his hand. Nonetheless he could only endure the wave of mockery until Daishou was content, a goal not too far from his reach when the snake did indeed shut up in due course, reclining into the warmth of his coat with a smirk thereafter.

“Thank you, I needed that.”

 “I’m so happy for you.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Aha, so there _is_ some bite to yo-”

“Enough. I’m not taking more criticism from the guy who slept in the kitchen.” Tora interjected, waving his free hand back and forth.

 Unfortunately, any joy he should have experienced as a direct result of Daishou’s horror was absent, and not even the sight of the snake’s unusually bulging eyes, or gaping jaw, could coax him to smile in satisfaction.

“I had no choice! Sakijima was in a foul mood because of his injuries, and I had no intention of shutting myself in the same room as that monster when he kicks off.”

“Mhm… he does seem quite…”

“Violent? Sadistic?”

“I was going to say angry.”

“That’s putting it lightly.” Daishou sneered, albeit humoured by Tora’s thoughtful choice of words. “He’s a lunatic once he gets going, trust me.”

“Didn’t doubt that, and to be honest I think he’s the kinda’ person who influences others too.”

 Daishou blinked, genuinely curious by Tora’s comment. “You think…?”

“Yeah. You’re a lot different when you’re around him, for starters, much more serious.”

 With that said Tora rose from his seat, snatching up both of their cups to prepare a refill, leaving a dumbstruck Daishou alone at the table. For one rare moment he lacked a witty answer, casting his attention elsewhere with a hollow clearing of his throat.

“Yeah well… Can’t fuck about all the time, can I?”

“Wouldn’t hurt every now and then.” Tora reasoned kindly. “But if your behaviour around them is some kinda’ front, a means of being a leader figure or whatever, I understa-”

“Is that coffee done yet?” Daishou snapped harsher than necessary.

“Haven’t even started m-”

“Never mind of course it isn’t.” Bitterness rolled into downright sour, and Daishou took solace in using his coat as a shield of sorts. He never thought he’d see the day he regretted such spite, deemed it unintentional even, but there he was feeling sorry for the man by the sink. To his further astonishment an apology had crept its way up his throat in the meantime, and very nearly pronounced itself until he seized control, swallowing it back down with a mighty gulp. It wouldn’t do to express too much compassion, not so soon.

“Change the subject.”

“Alright.” Tora spoke up, unfazed by the constant change of the mood. He’d grown far too used to that much living with the other Cats, anyway. “Have you always worked as a contortionist?”

“Yes, why?”

 Frustrated to an extent he thought non-existent till then, Tora wanted to bang his head against the nearby wall. Truly, there was nothing straightforward with Daishou. “Just asking… you’ve got expensive taste in clothing is all.”

“That’s no one’s fucking business.”

“True but-”

 Daishou was raring for another fight, if his poised expression was anything to go by. “What, can’t a person have nice things?!”

“Never said that.” Tora exhaled, thankful his back was turned to the other so that he could roll his eyes with a smile in defeat.

 Whilst the decision to name Daishou’s group Snakes was likely influenced by their profession, Tora believed there to be another reason, and couldn’t help but reminisce about much younger times in his life. He had seen a few snakes in person back East, beckoned from their baskets to the call of music. A smaller, naive Tora thought the display quite entrancing, though terrifying, but with his little sister in tow he’d have never shown his fear. Then there was another moment involving a man who merrily went walking through town during summer with snakes draped about his shoulders. They were harmless enough when given distance, but Tora recalled one unlucky merchant who had clearly set the snakes off on the wrong foot, for lack of a better term, and saw his life flash before his eyes when one lashed out with a hiss.

 At present Daishou was quite- alright, a lot like the snakes in the latter example, cursing and shifting in his seat with a pointed glare. “Are you suggesting I sold myself for these?!”

“I only asked about your line of work.” Tora reminded him calmly. “I was actually thinkin’ you might have had a job with a travelling group or somethin’. Or else had family who could offer money.”

 Daishou’s nose wrinkled and he stilled his tongue in contemplation, gawking downwards to the coat he’d been using as a pillow. “I see.”

“Is it alright to ask?”

“The damage is done, idiot, but I suppose I’ll indulge you just this once.” Daishou quipped, gesturing to the coat on the table when Tora returned to his seat with their drinks, “That one there’s a gift from my parents when I left home.”

 Tora raised both brows and nodded slowly, quelling the laugh so desperate to leave his mouth. “Meaning you either only just left home, or your mother bought it years ago and hoped you’d grow into it someday.”

 “Hilarious. You might recall people don’t grow much beyond a certain age.”

“I know, it was just a joke.”

“Your jokes are shit.” Daishou actually laughed by that point, sipping on his coffee afterwards. “You’re incapable of covering yourself unless it’s for an important occasion, and the closest _you’ll_ get to fur is that stupid strip of fluff atop your head.”

 “Ow.” Tora taunted. “Never heard that before.”

“Shut it, I’m just warming up, I’ll learn more about you soon enough.”

“How…? S’not like we’ll be performing together, and we can’t guarantee we’ll both be here at the same time.” Tora inquired via a newly summoned wave of hesitation and dread when Daishou’s smile grew wider.

 “I have my ways.” Daishou stated at last, rewarded with a shaky, yet trusting bow of Tora’s head.

 Whatever optimism Tora still held at that point had been swiftly ground to a powder, cast to the wind by Daishou’s smirk like flecks of dust, swirling and scattering their way about the kitchen. It was still early days, all things considered, but gut instinct told Tora that Daishou would keep to his word, one way or another.

 

 

 Oblivious, sickening… Sakijima observed the jovial scene in the kitchen with nose creased in disgust. Each tuck and fold of skin caused his freckles to dance and shift over his features, before dispersing when he let his face relax once more. It was beyond him as to what Daishou was playing at, mingling with their neighbours in such a bizarrely carefree fashion, but Sakijima was too tired, and ironically too angry to probe the matter further.

 His injuries were proving a nuisance, in short. Daishou and Hiroo had gladly offered him the one bed available to them, but no matter how he lay, nor how soft the bedding might have been, the pain in his torso would grip hold like a fish hook, hauling him from the waves of slumber which had sought to wash over him in the night. Nonetheless, he was now awake, and in urgent need of a remedy, or a second opinion at least, as to how long it would take to recover from his wounds. Carefully then, he set about creeping up the staircase, squinting when harsh sunlight began to flood the upper floor.

 Sakijima didn’t care much for the antics downstairs, but the sight that awaited him above was equally dire, and wholly deserving of his condescension.

 

“What a shithole.” He muttered, kicking a small pipe close by with enough force to send it hurtling through the open bathroom door situated opposite, and clattering across the tiles. It was but one of several tubes littered about, jumbled with bottles, papers and a vast quantity of rubbish, to put it nicely. He supposed some might call it eccentric, but mess was mess and Sakijima had lost faith that the people living in it might be a little more sanitary.

“Probably got a few diseases lingering about.” Sakijima snorted in entertainment as his sleepy state got the better of him, enabled him to tolerate such a dump, dare he say it.

“If you don’t like it, piss off.”

“Hmm?”

 Turning his head left he spied a similarly shattered Komi, leaning against the kitchen doorframe with folded arms. Much to the owl’s surprise the blunt outburst did not deter its recipient however, and merely widened his smirk.

 Sakijima loved, craved, whole-heartedly adored a challenge, and the arrival of this feisty creature promised to supply it in bucket loads.

“I take it back,” Sakijima began, flinching in pain when he cleared his throat, “judging by your hairstyle I’d assume all this shit is a design choice, not an accident.”

“Why’re you up here?” Komi asked, collected all the while Sakijima approached with long strides before leaning in.

“You’re kinda’ small. There’s what, ten centimetres difference between us? What d’you reckon?”

 Komi’s eyebrow twitched. Being ignored was one thing, but to be thoroughly insulted in the process was another matter entirely. “Dunno’. It’d be pretty big once I smash your kneecaps in though.”

“Woah! Wow… that’s pretty nasty, don’t you think? We’ve only just met!”

“The stairs are behind you, use ‘em.”

 Sakijima’s glee failed to go amiss, even as he paused to cough loudly into his hand. “You’re a laugh, you know that? I need more people like you.”

“Pity I don’t feel the same.” Komi droned, eyes rolling back. Albeit cruel, the urge to shove Sakijima down the stairs was becoming quite pleasing, and besides, one more tumble wouldn’t hurt, surely…? Why, with any luck, it might teach the sharp-tongued sort to think twice before harassing strangers first thing in the morning.

 Alright, Komi doubted the latter, but pushing Sakijima was still an option.

 

“Oi, you even listening to me?” The man in question was quick to pipe up, waving his middle finger in front of Komi. “Fuckin’ hell you’re rude.”

“ _I’m_ rude?!”

“I don’t see anyone else around-”

“That’s enough, both of you.”

Komi knew better than to refuse the command, glancing Washio’s way when he surfaced from his bedroom with furrowed brows. Whether he was angry or tired, it was impossible to tell.

“Sorry if we woke you.”

“You didn’t, s’alright.”

 Sakijima simply whistled. “Well now, you been eavesdropping on us? That’s pretty shitty too.”

“Leave it, and leave us too.” Komi exhaled, irritation etching its way over his features. “You’ve got no reason to be here.”

“Says who…?”

 

 To that Washio stepped forward, gripping a hand tight upon the snake’s shoulder. “Then explain. Now.”

“What if I don’t want to?”

 Tossing all previous thoughts aside, Komi confessed Sakijima had some guts to him. Washio’s glare did little to stop his confidence, and the hand clenching his shoulder only served to have him release a shrill laugh and slap Washio’s arm in response.

“Just as I thought! You’re nothing but brute force and intimidation!”

“I said explain.” Washio repeated sternly.

“I’m tired of this sorta’ thing,” Sakijima complained, quick to adopt his smug self shortly after, “I got a dense bastard just like you, heading here soon in fact. He’s attractive enough but all he’s good for are his muscles.”

“You have a minute to answer me.”

“That’s too generous.” Komi interjected, his comment proving sufficient at having Washio smile and shrug his shoulders.

“Perhaps.”

 Sakijima, on the other hand, did not take well to being ignored yet again. “And here I thought just one of you had problems, are all you weird fucks on this floor the sa- _ow shit_!!”

 Washio had never been one for talking, Komi mused inwardly. Amidst Sakijima’s remark he had removed his hand to then pinch hard at the exposed skin of his collarbone. Nothing substantially harmful, but still very painful given the right kind of pressure.

“Y’ minute’s up.” He spoke calmly. “Why did you come to see us?”

“You know exactly why!”

 Neither fear, nor nerves, but certainly some strain of emotion had tugged at Sakijima’s voice, wavering his speech in the process. “Don’t play stupid with me, I know exactly who you are… You’ve been expecting me!”

“What…?”

 At that Komi drew a deep breath, and forced a lump down in his throat. When both owls stilled in time tension began to writhe, looping through the chains and ropes hanging overhead and trickling down upon the trio currently caught in a stand-off. The newcomer appeared to be a man of his word, blunt to a fault and far too proud of hurling insults to bother weaving fairytales and lies.

Sakijima had come for them, and there was but one reason why.

 

“… See, I knew you’d understand.” Sakijima uttered under a laboured breath, observing patiently whilst Washio loomed in with an intense gaze.

“Get out.”

“’Fraid I can’t do that. I’ve been waiting for this for too long.”

“ _I said_ -”

“I don’t care!” Washio halted his tongue when Sakijima clutched the front of his shirt, and tugged him in. “The answer’s no, shithead. Now drag your friend out of bed so we can sort this mess already.”

“That does it,” Komi snapped, “Washio, either you hurl him down the stairs or I will. He’s been given plenty of chances-”

“Again with the violence!” Sakijima roared with laughter. “What a bunch of doctors you are!”

“Doctors?”

 

Oh.

 

 Without another word Washio carefully pried his shirt free, pleased to find Komi’s bewildered expression mirroring his own. In contrast Sakijima remained suitably enraged, shoving both hands into his trouser pockets.

“Now what’re you idiots gawking at?!”

“You got the wrong floor.”

“What?!”

 To be fair it was an easy mistake to make, Washio reasoned internally. “You live with the Cats, correct?”

“You want a prize for guessing that?” Sakijima growled. “Course I do, and I was told to travel one flight of stairs and that’s where the doctors would be.”

“One floor down, yes.” Washio detailed. “You’ve gone up.”

“No kidding!” Goodness Sakijima was losing his temper fast, and for a valid reason mind you. “Thanks for keeping your mouths shut, you thick bastards! I’ve wasted good time on you!”

“Run along then.” Komi beckoned him off with a wave of his hand. “And don’t come back in a hurry.”

“Agreed. Goodbye.” Washio added politely, going so far as to offer a bow.

“We’re not done yet.” Sakijima asserted, stomping down the first couple of steps then looking back over his shoulder.

 “I really think we are, piss off.” Said Komi.

“I mean it.” Sakijima murmured, “I’ll go for now, but maybe next time we meet you can explain your reactions, why you were so against my being here, or who you thought I was after.”

“That was nothing-”

“I know fear when I see it.” The snake’s strong and arrogant front reared its head one final time, just long enough for both owls to notice before he left their floor altogether. “… I’m feeling kind, so I’ll grant you a while to invent a good excuse. Promise to make it decent though, will you?”

“ _Leave._ ” Washio grumbled at last, deep and authoritative.

“With pleasure.” Came the conclusive retort, after which Sakijima wandered out of sight. All that remained of his presence was the clap of each scuffed boot against wood, thudding on and on like Komi’s heart in his chest.

 

“… Washio?”

“I know.” The man made haste to speak up and get himself to Komi’s side, guiding him away from the doorframe, “I know.”

“I thought that he knew about us.”

 “As did I.”

“But he can’t, right?”

“He can’t.” Washio pressed kindly, ushering him in the direction of his bedroom. “Now go back to your room and think nothing of it.”

“Yeah but-”

“Not buts.” Came the familiar stern tone, still laced with compassion however. Gently Washio then released his hold, but kept his arms outstretched just in case, as if the other owl would simply crumble without his added stability. “It was a stupid misunderstanding, that’s all.”

“… Yeah, you’re right.”

 Komi took a pensive breath before latching onto the handle of his bedroom door. In that time neither spoke, nor did they need to, finding solace instead in the absence of Sakijima’s footsteps. He would return at a later date, that they could not deny, but for now there was little to do but push on.

“I’ll see you later then.” Komi mustered in a hushed voice, eyes blown with dulled emotions. The encounter had been too close, too much, a thought thankfully shared in Washio’s own bleak gaze.

“Later.”

 

 

 Ukai’s request to meet with Iwaizumi was unexpected, above all else.

 The boy, from Ukai’s perspective, had executed his investigation into the mansion across the city with great diligence, bringing back few, but vital snippets of information which could assist in the case. It was originally devised by Ukai, Sugawara and Daichi that the Plants group embark on a single mission, after which they may retire until the following month. As it stood however progress was lagging, and a desperate time most certainly called for a desperate measure.

 

“You wanted to see me…?” Iwaizumi’s voice rung clear when he entered Sugawara and Daichi’s office, then swiftly took a seat before the desk at the command of Nekomata’s hand. Opposite him, Ukai remained unresponsive, head hung back as he reclined in his chair. Perhaps he was asleep, or otherwise hoping to find the answer to the dreaded case, and all his problems, lurking on the ceiling.

 Of course such a notion was naïve. Were it that simple the Roost owners themselves would have solved the case, had the culprits locked and maybe hung by now, and there would have been no need for Ukai, Nekomata, or the stink of the powerful alcoholic concoction he swigged down in one strong gulp.

“S’right. I called yer.”

 _Not one for talking today_ , Iwaizumi confirmed with an awkward clearing of his throat. Fortunately, Nekomata’s own lips were feeling quite liberal, spreading into a wide and mischievous smile until he spoke.

“He’s in a bit of a mood, don’t mind him.”

“I see.” Said Iwaizumi, more out of politeness than genuine understanding, for it was quite clear from the start that Ukai was miserable. “Have you spoken with Taketora yet?”

“No.” Ukai grumbled.

“He’s due in an hour or so.” Nekomata informed, gesturing to the nearby clock. It was soon to chime nine o’ clock and already, Iwaizumi could count the number of incidents, disputes and aggressive people he had met that morning on two hands. Oikawa, ironically enough, was not the primary cause for concern, but then Iwaizumi never _really_ perceived him as one in the first place. (Call him blind with love, if you will.)

 With Oikawa thoroughly struck from the list of potential nuisances, Iwaizumi could confirm the source of his morning stress to be a dissatisfied Sakijima. Heaven knows what happened to the snake, but he was irritable beyond belief during their encounter a good half hour ago, and hasty to screech his disapproval at Iwaizumi upon discovering that even when he had found the correct floor, Matsukawa and Hanamaki were nowhere to be seen.

 In truth, Iwaizumi had a firm idea of where they might be and what they were doing, but with all due respect no one, not even the foul-mouthed Sakijima, deserved to walk in on their shenanigans. And so without further ado he was shoved into their kitchen until further notice, kept under the watch of Yahaba and Kyoutani.

 

 “I need to ask a favour.” Ukai continued, heaving himself upright in his chair and granting the boy a shred of his attention at last. “Well not so much a favour, I’m telling you to do it.”

 Iwaizumi shook his head. “Doesn’t bother me either way. What do you need me to do?”

“Hmn.” Ukai gave an approving hum, then made to light a cigarette. “’Said he was a good one.”

“Indeed. Obedient but not ignorant.” Nekomata rose from his own seat to approach Iwaizumi and evaluate him via a slanted gaze. “You were there that night, weren’t you…? The night of the mansion fire two years ago?”

“That’s correct-”

“Pardon me.” Ukai scoffed, shooting Nekomata a glare. “Didn’t know you were the one running the investigation.”

“I’m just a curious old man.” Nekomata chuckled.

“Yeah well I’m a pissed one with no time to waste on you and your curiosity. Leave the questioning to me.”

“Come now, don’t get so grumpy.”

“I’ll do as I fucking well please!”

  Iwaizumi might as well have been sitting on a slab of ice, the way he scuffled and twisted about on his seat in discomfort. The entire situation, the men and their bickering, was about as enjoyable as the time the Plants offered to help prepare some show scenery the year prior. That carefree, relaxing activity had quickly spiralled into madness, and before he could so much as breathe there was paint being hurled in all directions, namely back and forth between Oikawa and Hanamaki. Come to think of it, Iwaizumi couldn’t recall why they had initiated the fight in the first place, but he definitely remembered that night well, sat in their bathroom attempting to clean the crusty, technicolour mess his partner’s hair had become. Then there was the telling off, the Sugawara special which the aforementioned man went out of his way to deliver in that very room, informing Iwaizumi of how daft and childish their actions were, how much pressure they had put upon their peers now that preparations were behind schedule.

 “You’re such a wound up git.” Nekomata volleyed back at his friend whilst he poured another drink. “Can’t handle things not going your way, huh?”

“How about I disrupt your work then, see how you like it?”

“Oh come on, he’s only going for a little while.”

“It’s unnecessary!”

 Iwaizumi raised a hand. “Excuse me, what is this about? What’s unnecessary?”

 Ukai halted instantaneously, too fast maybe, causing Iwaizumi to tense up in apprehension. Nevertheless he did not offer an answer so rapidly, taking a second to inhale deeply then blow smoke from his cigarette.

“S’nothing. Just someone being a pain.”

“I know the feeling.” Iwaizumi joked, grateful when the two men softened likewise.

“Right well, onto business.” Ukai proceeded with a deep and grating cough. Whether it was hoarse from old age or smoking… that remained to be seen. “I want you to work as one of my assistants. Takeda is busy juggling various other cases and it doesn’t seem fair to be pushing him so hard. Kuroo’s taken some of the load from him, but even then it’s proving too much, we need more help.”

“Meaning he wants a third lad to shove around as he pleases.” Nekomata jibed, taking a seat.

“No. It means I require another pair of hands familiar with the case. You’re close with one of the victims after all.”

 Close was one way of putting it, that’s for sure.

“You’re also trusted greatly in this establishment, no?”

 That, on the other hand was largely down to personal interpretation, Iwaizumi accepted with a shrug. “I’d like to believe so.”

“Then it’s a good thing I know so.” Ukai detailed, wedging his cigarette in the corner of his mouth. He had grown swiftly tired of the conversation, or so it appeared at the very least when he began to tug open the desk drawers and skim through the numerous papers wedged inside. “Your first assignment is to interview your peers on my behalf. I’d do it myself but honestly the thought of conversing with some of the halfwits here fills me with dread.”

“Understandable.” Iwaizumi laughed once more. “Though what information would you like me to gather from this?”

“Relations. I need you to draft up a chart, diagram, whatever the fuck you want. All that matters is that it tells me which people are friends, and in contrast where the enemies are.”

“Pardon?”

“Don’t think on it too hard.” Ukai sneered, “I gotta’ make sure there’s no traitors lurking about, understand? Be grateful I’m not issuing you the task of the thorough background checks afterwards.”

“But Ukai-”

 To say it would take forever would be an understatement. In all honesty the detective might even pass on before Iwaizumi finished mapping out such a hefty volume of data.

“Ukai I wouldn’t normally refuse-”

“And you’re not going to.” The man grunted, dismissing Iwaizumi’s weighty sigh altogether.

“No- No I’m not but, you realise that’s a huge task…? If you’d only be more specific then I reckon it’d be a much faster and effective process.”

“He’s got a point.” Nekomata chimed in a sing song fashion, hobbling back to Iwaizumi just to clap a hand on his back with pride. “And since the angry bastard isn’t keen on being direct today I’ll offer you a hint.”

“A hint..?” Iwaizumi blinked.

“Mm. Begins with O, commonly found at night- but not always nocturnal, I’ll have you know... Depends on the species, something about eye colours being an indicator…” The man replied, forming the letter ‘o’ in turn with his thumb and forefinger. Albeit more a vague statement than clue, Iwaizumi was grateful for Nekomata’s help, bowing his head in appreciation.

“Owls then, but even so I should think their connections obvious…? They stick together the majority of time.”

“Which strikes me as a little unusual.” Ukai finally took it upon himself to shed light on the situation, “I get that they’re admired by the rest of you, and do spend time with you also, but someone else outside the group must know more about them.”

“What do you mean?”

“Oh be quick with it, will you? You and I will be dead before the boy knows what he has to do!” Nekomata dared to voice the same macabre thought Iwaizumi had had mere minutes ago, succeeding in giving Ukai the push he required.

“Very well. Look here.” Ukai brandished a list bearing the Owl group and its members, each with an accompanying photo. “I know full well that one of these lot, if not all of them, have a lot more to hide than we first anticipated.”

“On what basis?” said Iwaizumi.

“They’re suspicious like hell.”

 Iwaizumi remained focused, ignoring the severe urge to roll his eyes at such baseless logic. Was a detective of Ukai’s standing even allowed to make such hasty judgement? Iwaizumi imagined otherwise, but there little to be gained in making that point known.

That said, there was one detail which he had half a mind to inquire about.

“Alright, but you’re aware they’re going out today, aren’t you?”

“Of course I am!!”

 Ukai complimented his bark with a bunched up fist that slammed against the desk, very nearly toppling Nekomata’s second- no, third drink in the process. In any other scenario one might’ve been scared by the response, but Iwaizumi was no stranger to sudden waves of violence. Instead, he remembered fondly how the Plants had lost their first kitchen table in a similar fashion, when Kyoutani awoke in a particularly foul mood only to be further provoked by Oikawa’s pet names. That in turn also resulted in a lecture from Sugawara, and a small cut in their earnings so that the furniture might be replaced.

“Ikkei…” Nekomata warned coolly with his drink safe to hand now, “Calm yourself, this kid isn’t who you should be yelling at.”

“I know.” Said Ukai, slowly withdrawing his fist. Much to his dismay his cigarette had also burnt out, encouraging him to light another and inhale deeply. “Yamiji’s stuck his nose in my business, and it’s pissed me off.”

 Iwaizumi assumed that last part was directed his way, as if the detective were finally about to make sense.

“I like to keep my on-site work brief.” Ukai explained further, plucking his smoke between two fingers whilst motioning to their surroundings. “Ideally by now I’d have dragged all persons connected to the case in here for an interrogation, but as it stands I can’t.”

“That’s extreme, if you don’t mind me saying.”

“Mine and Yamiji’s thoughts precisely.” Nekomata piped up. “It’s all very well beating and screaming abuse at criminals… but that barbaric method can’t be applied to everyone. Especially those who have suffered enough beyond these walls.”

“It would make this entire case progress faster.” Ukai reasoned.

“That or permanently scar the unfortunate souls you drag into this office. It’s no wonder Yamiji stepped in.”

“Yes but it’s not just a matter of today and his stupid little factory visit, but every day following! He’s outright banned me from interrogating any of the Owls!!”

 Ah, well Iwaizumi could understand his frustrations a little better now. Ukai was not one for mucking about and causing delays.

“Is there no way that you can compromise…? Perhaps, I don’t know, be kinder in your approach?”

“Ha!”

 Ukai sent another glare Nekomata’s way, unimpressed by his laughter. “I’ve tried, Yamiji doesn’t trust me. Nor do I trust myself in that respect. Work gets the better of me and my temper.”

“Very well.” Iwaizumi breathed, glad to see Ukai’s rage slowly subsiding in the meantime. “I can’t claim to know the Owls very well, but I know them enough to state that they are not to be confused with the sorts you’re used to dragging into your station. Moreover, what I understand of my partner’s past, of Akaashi’s too… I don’t blame them for anything they have done which the law may frown upon. Had Akaashi killed that shit then I’d have him praised as a hero, not penalised.”

“What good is that to me? Webb is alive, and the kid is innocent.”

 Taking an instant to reflect, Ukai clicked his tongue whilst fingertips drummed the wood of the desk in a slow, almost hypnotic trance. There was no denying the truth to Iwaizumi’s words, but indeed, as he had asked, what use were they in light of the current situation?

 Iwaizumi meanwhile shook his head softly in silent surrender. “It’s no use, I know that. But the fact remains I don’t believe a single one of them would lie without valid reason… They’d lie to protect, that I can guarantee.”

“Indeed. In fact that’s the most honest statement to leave your mouth thus far.”

“Are you accusing me of lying now?”

“No, not quite.” Ukai justified via the eerie calm, watching the swirls of cigarette smoke curling and dancing before their eyes with fascination. “You too appear to know more than you let on.”

“I don-”

“We’re diverting from the task at hand.” The detective informed conclusively, taking out a file stuffed with sheets of paper yellowing with age. It was his own file presumably, given the emblem on the front, Iwaizumi had seen something similar when they visited his office the night of the investigation. “As directed, you will look into the Owls further, but before then I wish to question you a little. For starters, you might’ve wondered why your bosses are absent from this conversation?”

“I considered it.” Iwaizumi agreed. “Do you suspect them of something?”

“No, not at all. Fact is they’re too caring, easily hurt, as hard as that might be to believe. I decided to keep them away for their own sake. This place is their home, their pride, and it has become something quite troubled… And I don’t think this has happened over the course of years.”

 Iwaizumi suspected as much, hanging his head. “… You mean the past couple of months.”

“You noticed too, then?”

“It’s easy to spot change when you’ve been gone away so long.” Iwaizumi began, his shoulders sagging with regret, and eyes cast in the direction of the cold and unlit fireplace. Sugawara was forever insistent that it be ignited, if not for warmth then for comfort at least. So that it’s light might wash them in a moment of peace.

 All Iwaizumi had ever seen in those flames was that godawful night two years ago. Each flicker and wave of heat would resurrect the sound of shattered glass, and inhumane screaming all around as they swooped the building in the name of a foolish justice. He might have saved physical lives that day, but they had also buried the truth of those harrowing times in the process, and now… now they were paying the price in sleepless nights and reoccurring trauma which, unbeknownst to the rest of the Roost, still haunted Oikawa immensely.

“I wouldn’t say this place has ever been a happy one.”

 Ukai cocked his head in curiosity. “You were a miner once, correct? You should be grateful, the Roost is a palace compared to those hellish depths.”

“And I am, but it does not mean I am forbidden to speak badly of it.” Iwaizumi honed his concentration on the fireplace still, eyes gradually narrowing, “Before I left with the others to travel back East, the Roost was lively, organised… joyous to a fault. I don’t know whether people truly enjoyed themselves or held their smiles for Sugawara and Daichi’s sakes, but they managed. As for the nickname thing…”

“The parent joke?” Ukai mocked. “Yeah, that’s fucked up, but I figured it was used like a hierarchical thing. Though now you mention it, besides those Crows I barely-”

“Hear anybody use it nowadays?”

 The detective stiffened when Iwaizumi eventually turned his head from the fireplace to make eye contact. He was not fearful of the boy, that would be ridiculous given his position and experience as a soldier, but a trace of his stare was distant and unforgiving, borderline intimidating.

“I respect them as bosses, as the people who took myself and my friends in, and likewise saved my partner, but besides that… I am sceptical of their ways. You’re aware of the meeting they held not long ago, regarding that factory newspaper article?”

“It went to shit, if I recall correctly.”

“It killed my trust in them too.”

“Now that’s extreme.” Ukai pressed, “They’ve always done what they can to protect you-”

“And how does that explain the meeting? They exposed such sensitive information before one the victims of that hellhole in the most moronic ways. We may be children in your eyes, and perhaps we may be nothing more than performers to Sugawara or Daichi, but we are human. We each have our dark times and it is unforgiveable to haul them out in the open in such a brutal fashion.”

 A soft, yet deep knowing hum came from the corner where Nekomata now resided. “Hence you don’t think much of Ukai’s interrogation methods. Good kid.”

“Nekomata, enough with your input.”

“It’s quite alright.” Iwaizumi assured them both, then rose to his feet. “In short I believe the Roost has ruined itself with all its secrets; the investigations Sugawara and Daichi have carried out since it’s very beginning will crush this entire institute like the fire did that mansion, and we’re all set to fall with it whether we like it or not.”

“Have some faith, you dramatic little shit.” Ukai fast reclined into a state of taunting and judgemental stares, often reserved for the criminals and suspects he so frequently questioned back in the station cells. “Get your work done and we’ll be fine.”

 Iwaizumi conceded that much with a dip of his head, then made his way to towards the exit. “Of course. If you’ll excuse me.”

“Go right ahead, though let me ask you one more question.”

“Alright but I can’t see how my knowledge will hel-”

“How did you kids know where to find that factory?”

 Iwaizumi paused in his stride. “… Sorry?”

“Stoker’s company is large, but not a pioneering force in the metal industry. Were it a well-known factory I’d have dismissed the case, but… It struck me odd that Sugawara and Daichi do not possess knowledge of its whereabouts, yet members of your group do.”

 Iwaizumi wrinkled his nose with a frown, shoulders bunching up into another shrug. “The Owls must have mentioned it in conversation. Though… No, that doesn’t seem like them...”

“An impression I also established.” Ukai agreed in a marginally compassionate tone. Little by little Iwaizumi’s demeanour had sunk, and his eye level likewise hit the floor.

“That doesn’t make sense at all… Even if one of the others was told, _why_ would they-”

 Ukai’s motions of approval became muffled in the numbing haze that swirled its way about Iwaizumi’s head. Enthralled by the energy of the investigation, the possibilities that whatever he found in that mansion might save Oikawa at long last… he had utterly disregarded his companions and their own exploits.

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” Ukai declared boldly, invigorated by the progress they’d made, “The Owls needed something from that factory, so they convinced your friends to go on their behalf to claim it. Rather crafty if you ask me, but they managed-”

“No.”

“No…?”

 Uncertainty drew overhead like a curtain, but Iwaizumi had a suspicion and it was worth following. “Matsukawa and Hanamaki wouldn’t do that. They care for the Owls- hell you saw how upset they were when you explained that the group would have to leave. Whether they were asked to or not, they couldn’t purposely bring back a book which would upset their friend, and then give it to them.”

“We’ll put that down to a mistake.”

“It wasn’t a mistake, they went of their own free will.” Yes, that much Iwaizumi was certain of. “I can’t say for sure what possessed them, but I wouldn’t put it past the two of them to decide to go there themselves.”

 Alright, Ukai fancied humouring the proposal. “And where do you suspect that book comes into play?”

“Well…”

 Iwaizumi balled his hand into a fist, teeth nipping at his lower lip. A sideward glance towards Ukai witnessed him slouch in his chair with a disappointed sigh, his hand weaving through the clutter of paper and various ink, drink and unknown bottles to find his cigarette box. His patience was running out at an alarming rate.

“I remember that Sugawara wasn’t going to pursue the factory case-”

“You want an award for that?” Ukai spoke with cruel laugh. “I already knew that, and for the record I’m the one who told ‘em it was important and to take it back up.”

“But that was thanks to what was found at the factory, correct...?”

“Doesn’t change a thing.”

 Deep breaths, Iwaizumi reminded himself, uncurling his fist to let his hand hang by his side. “Matsukawa and Hanamaki are close friends with two of the Owls.”

 Ukai hardly registered the comment, moving to light his cigarette.

“The night the factory trio showed up... It was I, alongside Oikawa and Daichi, who spoke with Washio first. It wasn’t very helpful however, since he was shaken up.” Iwaizumi endeavoured to talk further.

“Wasted yer time then.”

“I know that Sugawara spoke with Komi.”

“Fucking brilliant, then wh-…”

 Ash from the cigarette dropped to the desk like bright sparks before dying out, a sight akin to Ukai’s ever changing mood, and the way in which his jaw dropped at last.

“Ah, and so the final kid spoke with your two, huh?”

“Matsukawa was the first to see Saru wake, I know that.” Iwaizumi replied. “He’s a doctor, Hanamaki too. They were trusted to look after him.”

 

 Peace fled no sooner had it arrived.

 

“Why did not one inform me of this…?” Ukai queried during a shaky outward breath. “Why did you, your bosses, fuck- _any_ of you stupid children not think this was important?!”

“Calm yourself!!” Nekomata commanded, rising from his seat.

 Again, whilst thankful for the assistance, Ukai could not strike fear into Iwaizumi, a point proven when the boy walked back across the room, composed as he approached one of the cabinets behind the desk.

“As per the system Matsukawa filed a record of the treatment process. It’s kept for Sugawara and Daichi’s peace of mind, and as proof of Matsukawa’s status should anybody come questioning our medical resources... And here,” Iwaizumi tugged a single sheet from the drawer, then placed it in Ukai’s hands once he appeared to be in a less demonic state. “All of his findings on Saru’s injuries. Not sure you can get much from it but who knows.”

 Ukai did not find it in himself to reply, but then Iwaizumi predicted that to be the case. Instead his gaze lingered over the detective and his wrinkled forehead, to his hands which grasped the paper in a vice like hold, then to the desk where the aforementioned book sat, alongside the knife and four peculiar bottles mingled in with the rest of the clutter. Each one contained a liquid of a gentle, pastel hue, with a small rectangular label.

“… I see they handed those odd tonics over.”

“You what?” A distracted Ukai grunted.

“The bottles. I saw them when we were at your home the other day, they smell awful.”

 “Is that so…?” Ukai’s eye level rose from the paper, and calmly he set the paper on the desk.

“Mhm. Hanamaki was showing them off, tried to drink one for a laugh.” Iwaizumi very nearly groaned in recollection, “Matsukawa stopped him though, snatched them away and put them back in his bag. Then-”

“That’ll be all.” Ukai interrupted in an equally sincere style, “Whilst I find your story entertaining it will have to wait. Get yourself some food, a drink too, then start your work.”

“Oh… right.” Flustered by his rambling, Iwaizumi half bowed in apology then wandered over to the door, “Of course, I’ll give you my findings as soon as I can.”

“That I don’t doubt.” Said the detective, waving him off with a smile.

 

 Iwaizumi might have been a strong and reliable sort, but when faced with Ukai’s authority respect reigned supreme, and it was not in his nature to refuse the detective's orders. Luckily for him however Nekomata was beyond such politeness, examining his companion during that lengthy, agonising hush. Ukai was smirking hard, scanning the evidence scattered across the desk.

“And just what exactly brightened your mood…?”

“Nothing much,” Ukai released a deep yet disturbing chuckle, a sound derived from a cocktail of sheer fatigue and relief that at long last, his luck had fallen into place. “But it seems I might be conducting an interrogation after all.”

 

 


	21. Steel

 If patience was a virtue, then Oikawa was a sinner as far as waiting for Iwaizumi was concerned. He had yet to return from his meeting with Ukai, and each passing second only served to set Oikawa’s nerves on edge.

 He did not care for the frosty temperatures, nor the poor excuse for breakfast someone in their group had prepared and left in the kitchen, nor did he fancy meeting Sakijima, who was swiftly becoming a legend on their floor for his rage and abundance of criticisms. Above all that however, he did not care for the heap currently sat in the middle of his and Iwaizumi’s bedroom, smoking with such reckless abandon that it put the younger Ukai to shame.

 

“Mattsun,” Oikawa began, nudging his toe hard into the man’s side, “you look like a mess.”

“That’s because I am one.” Matsukawa droned without a single care, examining some paper in his hands. The cigarette shoved in the corner of his mouth was somewhat crooked, as if he had been chewing on it subconsciously. “Is Iwa back yet?”

“Of course not. If he was he’d have thrown you out by now.”

“How cruel.”

 Oikawa knew a useless endeavour when he saw one and refused to comment further, perching on the edge of his bed so that at the very least he could look down on his friend, and assert some authority. “Just what’re you doing, anyway?”

“Reading.”

“I established that much.” Oikawa stated, resisting the urge to kick the pile of work close to his foot. “What I mean is why do you have to do it here in my room? What’s wrong with yours and Makki’s?”

“Nothin’.”

“Come to think of it, you two went missing earlier, where’d you go?”

“Nowhere special.” Matsukawa grunted, lifting his gaze when an irritated Oikawa snatched the files from his grip and slapped them down on the bed.

“… D’you mind? I need those.”

“And I’d prefer to have some privacy in my own room, but there you go.” The other scowled, poking his tongue out afterwards. “Futakuchi said you were acting funny since you got back from the factory, but this is taking the piss.”

“What did he tell you?”

“This and that.” Oikawa teased, shrugging his shoulders. “Something about you feeling guilty over the Owls leaving, which I get but it doesn’t explain why you’re acting so suspicious.”

“I have my reasons.” Matsukawa insisted. “Now give back those papers.”

“Not until you talk.”

“Oikawa-”

“No!”

 With that Matsukawa rose to his knees, swiping an arm out in a bid to retrieve the files. “You’re so annoying at times…”

“Hajime’s mentioned something similar once or twice. As it stands however I have every right to question why you’re acting like some wanted criminal, hiding away with all your stupid paperwork and whatever… Also aren’t you and Makki supposed to be tending to our guest currently quarantined in the kitchen?”

“He can wait.” Matsukawa half snorted at the mere thought of Sakijima, grateful when Oikawa eventually handed back his work. “Anyway, I’ll be moving on shortly, I just got a little too comfy here.”

“You’re still avoiding the topic.”

 No answer came, and Matsukawa took to tidying the pile of paper by his side in a bid to distract from the conversation.

“Mattsun…”

“What?”

 Oikawa was not a patient sort, and he certainly wasn’t an expert on expressing sympathy either, but in light of his companion’s waning mood he wished to try, just this once.

“It’s almost like you’re avoiding staying in one place too long… why?”

“Because.”

 That was a good confirmation if any, Oikawa established with a subtle nod. At least he was on the right track.

“You trying to get away from the Owls maybe?”

“Not them.” Matsukawa uttered, plucking the cigarette from his mouth and stubbing it out against the base of his boot. With each word his demeanour shrank, and any of his usual sarcasm and energy had vanished along with it. “I think the detective might’ve latched onto something.”

 Oikawa quirked a brow. “The hell do you mean…?”

“It’s obvious, isn’t it?” A weighted sigh came next, and Matsukawa gathered up all the documents in his arms. “Assuming Iwaizumi’s been his usual honest and helpful self, I’m fucked.”

“Don’t bring him into this, he’s done nothing wrong-”

“I’m stating the truth, nothing more.” Matsukawa spoke softer then, rising to his feet, “According to Daichi, once our investigation was over we were free to do what we wanted until next month… And yet, for some reason Iwaizumi has been summoned by that detective for a talk. Doesn’t it strike you a bit odd?”

“… It does, yes.”

 With that Oikawa’s tongue lodged itself in the pocket of his cheek. Amidst all the self-indulgent pining for Iwaizumi’s return, he had yet to take a moment and properly question why Ukai required his presence in the first place.

 In stark contrast Matsukawa held no desire to dwell on it further, and was headed for the exit, latching onto the doorknob with a free hand.

“Wait.”

“Wait?” Matsukawa echoed with a mocking tone. “I thought you wanted rid of me?”

“Changed my mind. C’mere.”

 

 They say there’s a first time for everything, and in that moment Matsukawa came to understand just what the phrase meant. Within seconds Oikawa had ushered him to sit on the bed and ignore his abundance of paperwork, before marching over to the nearby cupboard.  

“I… suppose you’re anxious for the Owls too, about them leaving today?”

 Speechless, and rightly so, Matsukawa’s eyes blew wide at the awkward display of concern. Such mannerisms were currently lost on Oikawa though, whose head was buried deep in the cupboard when he yanked the door open.

“I would’ve thought that was obvious, though the same goes for you right? As far as Akaashi’s concerned anyway.”

“That’s right.” Came the dulled response. Oikawa kept his gaze to the floor as he resurfaced from the cupboard with two glass bottles of alcohol, one of which he shoved into Matsukawa’s grasp. “He seems so determined to go, despite all that’s happened to him, and I…”

 Matsukawa waited patiently, witnessing the fierce furrowing of Oikawa’s brows whilst he attempted to finish his sentence, but to no avail.

“You’re not angry about the other Owls still, are you…?”

 “Hmph.”

 That’d be a yes.

 

 In a display akin to that a grumpy child, Oikawa yanked the cork from his bottle with a triumphant pop, then tossed it across the room. “It’s not fair at all! I’m fine that he’s chosen them, that is to say, I finally understand why he wanted to be with them all these years, but going out- I can’t accept it!”

“But he has to leave at some point.”

“I don’t mean it like that!”

“Then what?” Matsukawa questioned, wary of the severe fluctuation to Oikawa’s mood. His shoulders had sagged, and his figure appeared withered beneath the folds of the wool wrap draped about his body for warmth. “Is it because you’re not going? Only I’m sure you could join them if you ask.”

“I can’t.” Oikawa accepted glumly. “I’ve tried encouraging Akaashi to take a walk around Vol with me countless times, but he’s always refused, and yet Bokuto- who’s only been here a couple of months, manages to not only have him smiling and laughing again, but also absolutely content with the thought of leaving the Roost. I can’t match that.”

“I guess it is quite a huge step.”

Oikawa laughed then planted his arse on the bed with a thump. “Ridiculous too, if you ask me. Are we supposed to believe that their love can magically cure all the panic attacks Akaashi used to put up with, all the fears he had? I’m sorry but it doesn’t happen that way.”

“But it worked for you, didn’t it…?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“Oikawa, you stalked our kitchen for three weeks straight before Iwaizumi took the hint to confess his feelings towards you. That’s even faster than Akaashi and Bokuto.”

“Y-Yes well, our situation was different.”

“Not really.” Matsukawa continued, pensive as he gazed in the direction of the window. “You saved one another, much like Akaashi and Bokuto have, and neither of you have to face that incident alone anymore.”

“I suppose.” Oikawa conceded at last. Three large gulps of his drink later he observed, with a definite level of fascination, how Matsukawa remained distracted.

Determined, Oikawa corrected himself internally, following the man’s stare all the while.

“Issei?”

“Mm?”

 Oikawa shifted a little in one spot, drumming his fingertips to the neck of the bottle. “What’s your relation to the Owls?”

“What’s that got to do with anything?” Matsukawa appeared nothing short of incredulous, whipping his head round to make eye contact.

“Everything really. After all, you’re the one who demanded Ukai give you access to the factory, and went there instead of the mansion the other night.” Oikawa stated plainly. “I know you have that odd little friendship going on with Komi and Sarukui, but that doesn’t seem reason enough to risk your life like that.”

“It wasn’t a risk.”

“Was too.”

“The fuck would you know about that- about them even?!”

 Much to Matsukawa’s surprise Oikawa failed to flinch, in fact seemed devoid of care altogether, eyebrows raised high as he brought the bottle to his lips for another swig.

“I know you were keen to get even friendlier with them the night of Akaashi’s party, but then all of a sudden you pulled back.”

“That was just a joke. Makki and I weren’t really going to go ahead with it.”

“Liar, I reckon you’ve got feelings for one of them.”

“Just fuck off already.”

 Oikawa rolled his eyes and tapped a fingertip to Matsukawa’s untouched bottle. Morning or not it was a shame to waste alcohol, and if the other man had no intention of drinking, then Oikawa certainly would.

“The Owls helped me a long time ago, and I want to repay the favour, that’s all.” Matsukawa uttered, gladly passing over the bottle. With hands free he then laced his fingers together, twisting them on occasion whilst he chewed on his lower lip.

“You mean the factory lot?” Oikawa speculated in time, noting the slight twitch and tension of the other’s fingers, thus confirming his suspicions.

“Sort of. The rest of the Plants, before we were the Plants, knew Konoha and Onaga very well before that though.”

“Huh.”

 Oikawa offered a humble nod, wisely opting to set both bottles down on the floor so that he could offer his undivided attention. Fortunately something had inspired Matsukawa to cheer up in that same instance, and coaxed him to speak.

“You know it’s weird, had 1898 not happened, and you guys shown up as a result, I reckon the Owls and Plants would be one group today.” Matsukawa speculated, “As you know us lot from the mines arrived here a little while after Konoha and Onaga, but they spent the majority of their time with us, assisting in stage set ups, cooking etc.… The Roost wasn’t half as lively then as it is now, but we had fun in our own little group.”

“I see.” Oikawa bobbed his head slowly.

 At that point Matsukawa produced a strange noise in amusement, presumably entertained by the memories of those days, “Not sure whether you’ve been told, but Konoha and Daichi were the ones who helped me get a doctor’s license over here too. Makki and I were fully qualified to practice back East, but over here it’s another story entirely… It’s beyond me how they did it exactly, guess they knew the right people, but thanks to them Makki and I were able to be recognised by the government, and allowed to work here also. We even got some job offers in nearby surgeries.”

“But despite all that you decided to stay with Hajime and the others?” Oikawa said, rightly surprised. “Surely money-wise… career even, you’d have been better off leaving? I mean think of where you’d be now!”

“Well I suppose we might’ve been pretty well off, sure, but the work wasn’t for us. Besides with all the diseases crawling about Vol there’s a higher chance we’d be dead from the immense exposure.”

 Oikawa nodded again, finding sense in that particularly grim silver lining. Amidst Matsukawa’s explanation he had also located his cigarettes and journeyed to the window, opening it a tad before lighting his smoke. The hand gripping the cigarette lightly trembled as he went, a habit Oikawa observed quietly whilst tugging his own wrap around him tighter for good measure.

“Still it seems a shame, you must be good at what you do.”

“Not really.”

“That’s not what Makki says, also you helped fix my knee up, remember?”

“Piece of piss.” Matsukawa spoke gruffly, as if irritated by the topic in question. “I was lucky that you were in decent health, it’s your body which did the work, not me.”

“I still owe you for the help.” Oikawa pouted then, clenching a hand in the wrap about his shoulders. “I’m sure Akaashi is grateful for your time too.”

“Akaashi was a whole different case. He was borderline mad when I first laid eyes on him but he’s healed himself, little by little. Mental issues aren’t my speciality so I couldn’t do shit for him.”

“But…”

 Why on earth the other man was refusing to accept praise was beyond Oikawa, who grew hell bent on proving his friend wrong.

“Is something the matter?”

“Talking about work is boring.”

“Boring?” Truly, Oikawa was at a loss with this man. “If you ask me I’d say you’re scared of talking, and just about everything else going o-”

“Fuckin’ drop it will you? I don’t lecture you about your decisions.” Matsukawa cast a lengthy outward breath, his frown worsening when the draft from the open window wafted trails of smoke right back in his face. That, amongst a great deal of Oikawa-related matters were becoming a nuisance to him, and with all due respect he half understood why the Snake still locked in their kitchen proved such a grumpy character.

In fact, it might be time to visit him soon.

“Well anyway,” Matsukawa quickly resumed his smug self like a mask. “I reckon I should see how Makki’s doin-”

_“Are you smoking in my room?!”_

“Or not.” He corrected himself swiftly. A hearty laugh bellowed from deep in Matsukawa’s stomach as he poked his head out the window, waving at a sullen Iwaizumi standing in the courtyard below. “Hey, I almost didn’t see you down there!”

“Is Oikawa with you?” Iwaizumi called, choosing to dismiss any height related commentary in its entirety.

“Him? Well-”

“ _Oikawa?_ ”

 Like a whistle Iwaizumi’s voice had beckoned Oikawa to the window, waves of brown hair flapping about in the wind. Much unlike their happy reunion back at the port, Oikawa acknowledged his partner with nothing less than outrage, his cheeks inflating until he spoke. “I thought we were on a first name basis?!”

“Clearly not.” Teased Matsukawa, blocking Oikawa’s elbow before it dug itself in his side. Whatever Iwaizumi muttered beneath a breath next was lost to them, causing Oikawa to twist and manifest all manner of bizarre noises in a bid to restrain himself, or so help him he’d scream the Dorms down.

“You know… This looks just like a play I’ve heard about.” Hanamaki’s voice abruptly resounded from the right. Upon hearing Oikawa’s shriek he had opened his own bedroom window to conduct a bit of eavesdropping (and likewise avoid Sakijima, Matsukawa noted with a smirk). “Only last I checked the woman was on a balcony and considerably better tempered than our friend here. Also I think the lovers died at the end, but let’s keep our fingers crossed that doesn’t happen.”

“Thank you for your input.” Iwaizumi droned, folding his arms and surveying the group up above. It was all very well those three yelling at him from the windows, but from Iwaizumi’s perspective he had a much larger audience, namely a grinning Tanaka and Nishinoya on the floor below creating a variety of kissing and heart signs. Hinata, a few rooms to the left had pressed his face to the glass of his window and was undoubtedly yelling for one of his companions to come take a look, and even the girls on the next floor down were smiling and waving sweetly in encouragement. Hell knows how or why it came about, but the Roost’s inhabitants took great joy in watching Iwaizumi and Oikawa’s antics, probably because there were a great deal of them, and that day would be no exception.

“Do you mean Hajime’s trying to flirt with me from down there…?” Oikawa whispered, worry evident in his features.

“You what?” said Matsukawa.

“I reckon he is…” Oikawa established, “Honestly, I’ll never understand him.”

“Nor will I ever understand you.” Matsukawa mumbled in dismay when Oikawa decided his theory was best, and bubbled up with glee.

“Think I should seduce him back?”

“Do whatever you please…”

 

 

“It sounds like the Plants are having fun.” Onaga piped up to a wave of chuckles, merrily watching the events below from the comfort of their own kitchen. With the exception of himself, Konoha had ordered the remaining Owls to stand before him in a line and wait whilst he stomped around the table, or whatever remained of it beneath the heap of clothing he had gathered early that morning. Every now and then he would stop and examine one of his companions, haul a garment from the pile then quickly discard it with a furious and unjustified ‘no’, before repeating the process.

 “You’re being real fussy about this, how much longer is it gonna’ take?” An impatient Bokuto complained, swaying left to right in an odd fashion until Konoha tossed a jacket at his face.

“Be quiet, this is important.”

“But what’s wrong with our own clothes? Why’ve we gotta dress up?”

“You don’t own many clothes, for starters.” Akaashi stated for Konoha’s sake. “The chances of you being recognised in the city by someone you used to work with is high, so we need to create a disguise.”

“I’ll be okay!”

“With hair that distinctive I beg to differ, let Konoha do his job.” Washio added, stood at the very end of the line. It was his opinion above all which finally hushed Bokuto, and persuaded him to put on the jacket for Konoha to survey.

“That looks better.” The man fortunately concluded, back to rummaging in the garment heap. “No disrespect but you and Kuroo look a bit sloppy, so to speak. I reckon we should dress you the total opposite just to be safe.”

“No fair, you’ve dressed me like a fucking mess.” Komi chipped in further down the line, pointing to the numerous patches and stains on his trousers and shirt. To be brutally honest his coat wasn’t much better, nor the hat used to hide his hair, but it was a mystery better left unsolved, in Komi’s opinion.

“I’ve dressed you like a chimney sweep.” Konoha snorted. “A believable profession given your height.”

“You prick.”

“Be grateful. I was half tempted to disguise you as a chimney brush, what with that daft fluff atop your head.”

“Is that really believable though?” Onaga pried in consideration before the scenario got out of hand.

“What do you mean?” Konoha asked kindly.

 Albeit a bit ragged, Onaga couldn’t deny that Komi’s disguise would be more than convincing out in the streets of Vol. But on the other hand there was Washio, whose tailored ensemble, large black overcoat and side swept hair appeared exceptionally clean, and greatly contrasted the other owl.

“I understand the logic, having Bokuto dressed unlike his usual self, and how it’ll match Washio’s outfit… but why would they be walking the city with a chimney sweep in tow?”

“Yamiji thought it best we don’t all look the same.” Konoha advised, ignoring Komi’s rude hand gestures to pass Bokuto a coat next. “Besides, Washio could very well be his boss, scouting the area for new business.”

“That’s true.” Onaga approved with a pang of relief.

“Don’t you dare sell me.” Komi half warned, half laughed at the taller man to his left. “I’ll come back and find you.”

“That I don’t doubt.” Washio chuckled, subsequently shifting his gaze to Sarukui out of habit. He, unlike the others, had an immediate idea of what he wanted to wear, demanding that so as long as he was warm and covered, he didn’t care either way. For that reason Konoha chose to be kind and gave him a cap akin to Komi’s, then one of Washio’s spare coats which near on smothered him, despite his large build. Washio held no complaints for it was cosy, and quite sweet the way the shoulders of the coat didn’t sit quite right. More importantly, Washio pondered inwardly, he hoped that the owl would take some comfort in the garment, and consider it a form of support that they would be unable to physically offer once beyond the safety of the Roost.

 “I still don’t know about the scarf idea, is that really going be a good cover for his face?” Konoha spoke without a trace of tact in Sarukui’s direction, thoroughly setting Komi off on the wrong foot.

“Its fine, I wrapped it up nice and tight!” He insisted. True enough Komi’s method of disguising his partner’s mouth relied on very little besides careful placement, bundling the scarf round and round until it reached Sarukui’s nose, before tucking the end of the scarf snug beneath the lapels of his coat. “Besides, it was the longest scarf I had, so it’ll do.”

 Konoha accepted the idea with a shrug, laughing through his nose at the sight of the wool mound stood before him. Sarukui was in there somewhere, only identifiable by a pair of drooping eyes which conveyed very little as to how he felt about his position. “Well he won’t get cold at least.”

“Yes, but it also means he won’t be able to speak until we get to Yamiji’s factory, you realise?” Washio emphasised with concern that did not wane, despite the eager bobbing of Sarukui’s head confirming that yes, it was absolutely fine.

 Bokuto, to the surprise of no one, was in full agreement. “That’s a really long way off, too! Does the no talking thing apply to us all?”

“Not necessarily.” Konoha interjected, slapping a hat atop Bokuto’s head and tucking any loose hairs underneath. “Provided you don’t blurt out any of our real names you’re ok. At any rate Yamiji, Onaga and I will be there to handle the majority of conversation across the city, so ideally none of you will need to speak.”

“I don’t think this’ll work.”

“Have a little faith.” Akaashi encouraged, joining Konoha in adjusting the sleeves of Bokuto’s coat next. “Play your role correctly, and nothing can go wrong.”

“Role…?”

 

 Role was interesting. Role was kind of like roll, which reminded Bokuto of food. But it was not the sort of role that he should have been focusing on, the one that Akaashi and Konoha drilled into his brain first thing in the morning.

“Who was I again?”

 Konoha slapped a palm to his forehead. “Are you serious? OK, let me repeat. You’re Washio’s younger brother, and Yamiji is your grandfather. You’ve both been living in the West for several years now to learn about the family business.”

“And what about you?” Bokuto asked.

“Konoha’s your weirdo cousin.” Komi quipped with a grin. “Imagines himself as the life of the party, and frequently lies about his age to appeal to the ladies. Probably got dumped here by his own family for spending all their money.”

“I’m actually Yamiji’s assistant, same goes for Onaga.” Konoha corrected, “Akaashi and Komi will pose as new apprentices to the factory, and Saru will be Saru, minus his habit of attracting trouble.”

“I’ll do my best.” Sarukui mocked, tugging the scarf down enough to speak.

 If Bokuto didn’t know any better, he’d bet their plan was devised late last night. Still, no alternatives came to mind, and they were pressed for time as it was, so he avoided voicing a complaint and allowed Akaashi to rearrange his clothing until satisfied. The others followed suit, readying themselves as best they could until Washio cleared his throat, and seized their attention when he paced over to the door.  

“… Shall we? I suspect Yamiji and Sugawara will be wondering where we’ve gotten to.”

“And that’s the last thing we need.” Konoha jibed with a hollow smile, beckoning his friends through the door and to the stairs with a hand. From there they shuffled down in a sombre line, offering little besides the occasional ‘goodbye’ and smiles to the more curious Roost inhabitants.  

 

 

 Contrary to the Plants’ shared beliefs, granting Sakijima time to mull his position over was not for the best. Perhaps they had mistaken him for a bottle of wine, Hanamaki joked upon seeing the raging snake, and believed that just as the drink improved with age, Sakijima would likewise change after a good half an hour and become a decent human being.

 Naturally, the complete opposite occurred, and the verbal backlash they received could only be considered fair payment for their hospitality. Furthermore Sakijima felt inclined to tip them for their services, or lack of, all the way to Matsukawa and Hanamaki’s room.

“You’re all a pile of sh-”

“ _Language_.” Hanamaki groaned, drained from the constant swearing. Were Sakijima to employ more creative slurs then maybe, just maybe, the pair would think him entertaining, after all, they were no strangers to a vocal spar or two. Be that as it may, Sakijima bore no intention of being clever with his words, preferring to outright batter them instead.  

“You’ve got a decent view at least.” Sakijima commented upon approaching their bedroom window. Albeit a trivial insight, a compliment from those lips were beginning to seem like gold, and his unfortunate company would gladly take it over the slights he was accustomed to offering.

 That said they were there for a reason, Hanamaki reminded himself as he cleared the long bench they used for patients… if and whenever they had any. “Do you wanna come over here? Might as well get you looked at soon so you can be on your way.”

“I’d already be on my way were it not for your shitty time keeping.”

“That’s true. Though the past is the past and your co-operation would be appreciated.” Matsukawa chipped in, taking a seat at their desk. Leaving Sakijima to his own devices for a second he rummaged for a board with some forms attached, fetching a pencil next. “Just gonna need some details if that’s alright?”

 Alright? Sakijima had yet to find anything in this scenario ‘alright’, hopping onto the bench with a hefty thump and resounding laugh. “How old’s this thing? I thought my arse was going to break it.”

“I don’t think we’ll get far with this one.” Hanamaki grumbled to his partner, then shifted his attention back to the cackling snake. “Name’s Sakishima right?”

“You talking to me or the bench?”

“I thought it was Sakijima.” Said Matsukawa, regarding their patient utterly unhelpful from the start.

“No, I’m certain it was shima at the end.” Hanamaki pressed.

“Can’t be, he looks more like a jima.”

“And you look like a total misery, now put it as shima.”

“I’m writing jima.”

 Sakijima’s laughing cut short when neither of the doctors were paying him attention. “I couldn’t give a single fuck, put whatever you want.”

“I have the pencil, Sakijima it is.” Matsukawa declared with glee, scrawling the name down. “Fancy telling us your age, or shall we guess that one too?”

“Ancient as hell.” Hanamaki snickered, attempting to swipe the pencil and ruin the form, but with no luck.

“Twenty four!” Sakijima snapped, muttering a plethora of curses beneath his breath whilst climbing off the bench. “And forget it, I’m not fucking about with you unqualified morons. I’ll find some doctors in the city-”

“No, no, no. You’ll stay here,” Hanamaki rushed over in good time, latching onto Sakijima’s wrist to halt him. “We’re more than capable of handling whatever little bruises you’re fussing about.”

“I’ve broken a rib you idiot.”

 No reply came until Sakijima was well and truly returned to the bench, after which Hanamaki stood in front of him with folded arms. “That remains to be seen. We’ll know pretty fast what you’ve been up to.”

“Actually we already know. Or I do at least.” Matsukawa enlightened from the comfort of his chair. “He took a fall down some stairs on the ship over here.”

 Alarmed, Hanamaki’s mouth formed a wide o, raring to speak when Sakijima’s glare stole the words and cast them aside. He would not accept further questions on the matter.

“Remove your shirt then.” Hanamaki dismissed the case with an evident look of frustration. He didn’t take kindly chores, or anything that required effort, and Sakijima demanded it in bucket loads. As luck would have it however the blunt approach encouraged more action from the snake, who quickly unfastened his shirt then shook it off to place by his side on the bench.

 And there they found the first of many problems.

 

“Who the hell did that?” Hanamaki clicked his tongue and located the end of the bandages, tugging them loose. Or looser, to be precise, given how they were sloppily wrapped over and over round Sakijima’s torso. “Binding broken ribs does nothing, worsens it to be honest. Did you have a doctor on board the ship deal with this?”

“Well yeah, it’s not like I’d know what’s best.” Sakijima tensed up from a sudden chilly draft that tickled it ways across his skin. Hanamaki proceeded to unravel the mess this previous doctor had made in the meantime, making his disapproval known via some comparatively inventive swears.

“You really did take a beating on the way down, I gotta say.” Hanamaki announced, revealing large patches of discoloured skin on the front of Sakijima’s torso, and a few scrapes about his upper arms as well. Moreover his personality had taken a full flip, poised all the while he carried out his work and reported the findings to Matsukawa. Not that he cared to voice it aloud, but Sakijima found himself mildly impressed by the increase in their maturity, and why, perhaps they were telling the truth about their profession after all.

“There’s definitely a broken rib in there, maybe even a couple.” Hanamaki continued once the remainder of the bandages were gone. Calmly he then moved in, prodding lightly at some purplish swelling with his fingertips.

“Be _gentle_ , you shit.” Sakijima hissed, clutching the edge of the bench with whitened knuckles. “Just tell me how to sort it out already and let me go.”

“Mm I dunno’… It’s gonna take time, several weeks at least.”

“And a definite performance ban of two months, I’d wager.” Matsukawa confirmed. “I’ll get the paperwork sent to Daichi and Sugawara’s office, and we can discuss the specific time period then, but for now I’d reckon you need to keep well away from anything that might put strain on your body.”

“It doesn’t hurt that bad.” Sakijima tried, “Make it one month.”

“It has to be two.”

“But it’s not that bad!”

“The pain might not be, but you’re at risk of having an organ pierced by a broken bone if you’re not careful.” Matsukawa spoke up finally, lapping up the grim expression upon Sakijima’s face. The joy was not shared with his partner however, whose eyes widened momentarily when he wandered round to get a glimpse of Sakijima’s back.

“Makki?”

“Just checking there’s no further injuries.”

“And are there?”

 Indeed there was, but Sakijima’s nature did not permit them the luxury of time, therefore any astonishment or commentary would have to be subdued. Littered over his shoulder blades were scuffs akin to those on his upper arms, but the greatest points of interest had to be the small welts of skin scattered further down, darkened and clogged with dry blood, and a single long and multi-coloured bruise in the middle of his spine.

“You’ve got some cuts on your back, we should clean them.” Matsukawa stated for clarity’s sake when he wandered over to take a peek. Too impatient to delay, Hanamaki grabbed some items from the nearby shelf, and by some strain of luck Sakijima didn’t complain, nor intend to, signalling his discomfort with a sharp intake of air when Hanamaki soaked a cloth with alcohol, then dabbed it at the welts.

“Fuck…”

“It’ll stop them getting infected.” Hanamaki assured in a sing song tone and applied additional pressure with the cloth. At a glance the blood was a few days old, the majority of it flaking off, and once clean revealed wounds in neat, rectangular shapes.

“Must be from when he hit the stairs on the way down.” Said Matsukawa, shaking his head furiously when Hanamaki gawked and readied an objection. “There’s no other explanation.”

“Oh yeah? Well where’s the bruising?”

“Right there in the centre. It’s obvious.”

“I’m talking about the bruises which should be around all of the marks, assuming they’re caused by the stairs, as you proposed.”

 Sakijima’s endurance, however much that might be, was nearing its end thanks to the ache in his chest, and it did not take into account the bickering of these two lunatics. Both were determined to make their point stand, but none could miss the thread of urgency woven into Matsukawa’s voice as if his reasoning had to be accepted, or else.

 In truth Sakijima found that rather pleasing, savouring each hitch of breath and anxious waver in tone, however the debate itself left much to be desired.

“I think this is suspicious.”

“Makki you’re being rude, he’s right here.”

“That doesn’t change a thing!”

 Oh but it would, Sakijima mused inwardly whilst peering down at his boots. They were his only shoes, hence his favourite, the leather carefully moulded to the shape of his feet through excessive wear and toil, and laced up just right so that he could tuck the ends of his trousers inside for warmth, or wear a thick pair of socks if necessary.

“Sakijima?”

“Mm?” The snake turned to his company with a simple smile. “Ah… I drifted off.”

 “Its okay, you should be careful though.” Matsukawa warned, noting how Sakijima had bent forward to feel at the laces of his right boot amidst their quarrel. “That can’t be comfortable.”

“It’s alright.”

“But the-”

“I’ll be just fine.” The smile widened and Sakijima removed his hand to rest his chin upon it, eyeing the pair keenly. “By the way, are you two together, perhaps…?”

“We are. What of it?” Hanamaki leapt to their defence, provoking a soft chuckle in reply.

“Nothing, I merely wondered given the way you fight.”

“To which I assume you also have somebody?” Matsukawa probed.

“Yeah… a real piece of shit.” Sakijima’s smile dropped. “And to think I trust him with a child.”

“A _child_?!”

 Such an announcement required delicacy, which would have been all too easy were Iwaizumi in the room, but alas he was not, and neither doctor possessed such sensitivity. Matsukawa, the last resort for a sensible response, did not speak and merely looked with jaw agape, whereas Hanamaki doubled over, choking on his spit.

“Y-You… you have a kid…?”

“Something wrong with that?” The snake’s eyes turned dark, and he let his hand drop by his side. “You fucking judging a child you’ve never met?”

“No, no it’s just-!”

“I-It’s impressive, managing to raise a family on top of your job, and travelling here too.” Matsukawa sought to jump in to his partner’s aid, clapping a hand to his back so as to quell the coughing fit.

“… He’s not mine by blood.” Sakijima murmured eventually, turning away. “But I care for him a lot. Both of them.”

“I see.”

 

 Love really did take many forms, Matsukawa settled with a downwards glimpse to his companion. Whilst he could not picture Sakijima expressing compassion towards another human being, it was supposedly possible, and had been for some duration.

“Are your partner and child arriving here soon?” He chanced the moment to ask, relieved when rewarded with a confirmative nod.

“Soon.”

“And do they know of your injuries?”

“That’s none of your business.”

“No, but we have a right to be concerned,” Hanamaki, now recovered from his fit, scurried round the bench to face Sakijima. “If something had happened to me, something Matsukawa didn’t know about, I’d sure as hell want to tell him.”

“That’s nice.” Said Sakijima, his words dripping with revulsion. Overly curious souls were not his type, and could burn for all he cared. That said, he was anything but reserved in his first meeting with Tora, an incident which had Hiroo labelling him a hypocrite later on in the privacy of their room.

“I agree… I’m not normally into getting this involved,” Matsukawa began in earnest, “But if you’d like we can have a private talk with your other half when he gets here.”

“Don’t be ridiculous, you talk like I’m dead.”

“Your wounds are serious.”

“Exceptionally so,” Hanamaki slipped a hint in, narrowing his stare, “So if there is anything you’d like to confess about them, I’d suggest you do it n-”

 “There’s nothing to tell _._ ” Sakijima spat.

 “I’ll put it in your file just in case.” Matsukawa suggested, making his way to the desk. “We’ve taken plenty of risks in the past, and you can’t be another one-”

“I said there’s nothing to tell!!”

 A bang coursed throughout the room, quaking the floorboards and prompting Matsukawa to whip his head in the direction of the bench. Hanamaki had been hauled halfway across the surface by one of Sakijima’s hands in his hair, his feet scrambling for purchase whilst the snake reached his free hand down the side of his boot and extracted a small knife.

“What the hell are you doing?!”

“You shitheads have wasted more than enough of my time, so let’s get this over with.” He began by placing the blade snug to Hanamaki’s neck, then cast his focus to Matsukawa, “Bring me my files.”

“C’mon, there’s no need for this-” Matsukawa made to protest, halted by a hum in disapproval.

“Maybe not, but you know it’d be a real shame if my hand slipped.” Sakijima snorted, looking about the room. “Think of the mess I’d make…”

“A-Alright. Wait there!”

 Goodness, Sakijima praised the fact Hiroo and Daishou had refused to join him today, and could only imagine how mad they’d be if they could see him. Politeness was all well and good, but truly, Sakijima thought it incredible what one could achieve with the right leverage. A combination of knowledge and a knife had Matsukawa fumbling about the desk with clammy palms, then returning to the bench and brandishing them for Sakijima to examine.

“Mmm… almost a little too descriptive about my injuries, but it’ll do.” Sakijima determined, shivering from the adrenaline and the blatant fear in Hanamaki’s eyes when he brushed the blade a little too close every now and then. “File it to your bosses like that, understood?”

 Matsukawa grunted and shook his head up and down, unfamiliar with the tension racking his body. Sakijima was not like the men from the mines, who would yell and punish the workers from time to time… no, he was by far the most dangerous individual to date, who could, and would, hurt Hanamaki for the sake of it. “Now let ‘im go.”

“One more thing.”

“Name it.”

 Sakijima brimmed with immeasurable satisfaction. “How did I get my injuries?”

“Fell down the stairs.” Matsukawa spoke with haste, “That’s all anyone will know, we promise.”

“ _You_ promise.” Sakijima corrected, staring down at Hanamaki. “What’s your answer?”

 _Anything to stay alive,_ Hanamaki resolved promptly, hesitant not to swallow too hard all the time the blade remained close. “F-Fell down the stairs.”

“Good boy. As for this conversation, I don’t think I-”

“We’ll keep it between us, we mean it!” Matsukawa stressed with papers trembling in unsteady hands, “Now please, let him go and piss off already.”

 All things considered Sakijima should have been insulted by that remark, but on the contrary any form of conflict was appreciated. Therefore slowly, achingly so, he removed the knife but kept it to hand whilst he put on his shirt, eyeing the pair in silent warning. One step out of line, one implication that they would attempt to stop him and he would have both their necks, and those of their friends gathered in the kitchen.

“I really appreciate your help.” He jibed in the end, stepping up to Matsukawa and giving the files in his hands a playful tug. “D’you need me to deliver those, or can you manage without pissing yourself?”

“Go, please.”

“Eh… you’re about as hospitable as the lot I met on the top floor.”

“Pardon?”

“Nothin’ you need to fret about. Just focus on keeping those lips sealed, mm?” Sakijima taunted, shrugging the matter off as he walked to the door and slipped out in the eerie quiet.

 The wretched man resumed his torment even as he left, greeting the Plants members in the kitchen with overly cheerful “hellos” and “thank you”s for their time which echoed throughout, trailing away when at long last, he departed for the staircase.

 Hanamaki remained frozen for the duration, eyes fixed upon the ceiling as if a single glance might summon the snake back. 

“Issei…?”

“I’m here, s’ alright.” Matsukawa assured him, pulling Hanamaki into his arms once upright on the bench. Only it wasn’t alright, they accepted without a word.

“It’s still there.”

“Mh?”

 _The knife_ , Hanamaki urged to say, placing a hand over his neck. Ghostlike it traced the length of his skin, and with each breath and shallow gulp it threatened to twist its way inside, to prolong the suffering. Sakijima’s presence similarly remained, existing in the shadows of the room, the reflection of the windows, the chemist bottles lined upon the shelves, and in the scalpels, which sat neatly within their box at the far end of the bench.

“He’s still there.” Hanamaki choked out, shutting his eyes at last.

 

 


	22. Mercury

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First and foremost, a quick but big thank you to my beta, who helped dragged my lazy shoe arse through this chapter. You are such a good.

 Without the theatrics of the rehearsals, music, and waves of applause, the Hall was a cold and lifeless space. The red and gold drapes looped about the balconies seemed almost stifling in the silence, too heavy and too grand for the souls which inhabited the Roost, but then… it was never intended to suit their preferences in the first place.

 Akane, sat at a small table on the first floor balcony, had studied those drapes well the past thirty, maybe forty minutes, following the tight weave of the material with a discerning gaze. She wondered how old they were, who had made them, and on a grim note, how much dust had nestled itself within the fabric over the course of time. She also considered giving them a solid whack to find out, but quickly threw that idea to the wind when an image of Sugawara’s rage came to mind.

 Closing that trail of thought, her focus then flickered to the door ahead, located on the opposite balcony. It lead to Sugawara and Daichi’s office, a place she had yet to be summoned to on bad terms, for they both liked Akane, and she steered well out of trouble’s way. Without a shadow of a doubt she liked them both in return, but at present she hated their door, and what it stood for.

“A watched bowl never boils.”

 Akane tore her eyes from that infernal door to acknowledge her company, Alisa, who sat quietly with her at the table. Her head was tilted to one side, and her eyes had narrowed whilst she pursed her lips.

“Oh but wait- it was a pot, yes. That’s it, _a watched pot never boils_.”

“You what?”

“It’s a phrase I heard from my parents,” Alisa elaborated, “No matter how hard you stare at a pot, it won’t boil faster. The meaning has something to do with impatience I think.”

“I see.”

Akane failed to grasp the precise point of Alisa’s comment, but took it in her stride before casting her interest elsewhere.

 

 Roughly six years Akane’s senior, Alisa was a thoughtful, mature sort. Very wise, elegant, and a sisterly figure to the younger woman. Despite having blood of Eastern and Western parents, she grew up solely in the West, adopted the etiquette early, and became a _proper_ lady, as described by the gentlemen who visited the Roost. Her clothes and mannerisms were always on point, and her light blonde hair would tumble in a soft, gentle fashion when it was worn down. She chose her words carefully, and spoke at the appropriate times, for the most part.

 In stark contrast Akane’s hair possessed a mind of its own, billowing about her shoulders like a stubborn, fiery mass, and her tongue was similarly difficult to tame. An Easterner through and through, she had tried in her early Roost days to adopt Western habits so as to better fit in, but a sensation within her refused to yield. Corsets and neat little hairstyles could burn for all she cared, and upon declaring that much to Sugawara and Daichi she was met with fond laughter, and mutterings of the fierce ‘Yamamoto Spirit’.

“I’m sure Taketora will be done soon.” Said Alisa, attempting to lift the mood. “Detective Ukai seemed a reasonable man, he wants to get his job done-”

“Say what you really mean, please.” Akane interrupted with a frown. “You’re not stupid, and there’s nothin’ to be gained from being all sweet about things.”

“I… well, I suppose-”

“I hate that detective, personally.” Akane continued, “He thinks its right to storm into our home, click his fingers and interrogate whoever he wants.”

“That’s his job.”

“So?! It’s rude, and unfair!”

“Akane-”

“Oh dear, look who’s angry again.”

 Grimacing, Akane snapped her lips shut at the sound of the new voice, whilst Alisa expelled a sigh in relief. The speaker was none other than Yukie, who surfaced from the girl’s office nearby with Kaori in tow. The latter carried two chairs with her, as if having planned to join Akane and Alisa from the start, which she subsequently set down at the table.

“Such a grumpy thing you are...” Yukie murmured, soon taking the seat beside Akane. “I dunno’ what you’re getting mad about now, but word of warning… there’s a potential audience downstairs.”

“Huh?”

“Oh.” Alisa craned her neck to look over the balcony edge, her expression unreadable. Three figures stood in the centre of the Hall with Yaku, Kai, and Inuoka, speaking excitedly with one another and motioning to the door leading to the courtyard. Two of the people wore ragged garments lathered in smudges of dirt, whilst the third resembled a clothing heap, in short.

“Who the hell are they?” Akane remarked to the three strangers.

“They’re the Owls of course.” Kaori stifled a laugh behind her hand.

“Some of ‘em.” Yukie corrected, smiling to her partner, “They’re going out in disguise today. The one nearest to Kai is Akaashi, see? You can spot his hair every now and then from beneath his cap. Komi’s easier to find because he’s short.”

“And the third one is Washio?”

“Do be serious, he’s far too refined to be seen like that.” Yukie scoffed and reclined in her seat with a lazy smile.

“Sarukui then.” Akane deduced quickly. Onaga was far too tall and skinny to bear such bulk, Konoha held too much pride in his appearance, and with all due respect Bokuto could be heard from a mile off, so he was entirely out of the question. “But where’re the others?”

“Running late.”

“I see.”

 Following that blunt response Yukie examined the youngest woman with folded arms. Akane was not the sort to just lie down and accept whatever was bothering her, so her brief answer in that moment was unusual, to say the least. Moreover she had taken to staring at the door to Sugawara and Daichi’s office in a solemn fashion, one which Alisa noted with a hint of dismay.

“She’s waiting for her brother. He’s speaking with the detective right now.”

“Ah... has he been in there long?”

“Too long.” Akane chipped in swiftly, never taking her eyes off the door. Something about her admission left a bitter taste in her companion’s mouths, which Yukie swallowed down before inquiring further.

“… And why aren’t you in there?”

“Don’t ask.”

“Bit late for that.” Yukie sighed, “If you know something they don’t, you should share it-”

“I _can’t_.”

“Why not?”

“Because I already tried, and that detective threw me out.” Akane scowled, turning her head to face Yukie at last. “Apparently my being in the room the same time as Tora is a ‘hindrance’. Makes his testimony biased.”

“That’s ridiculous. You were in the same situation, so your accounts will match anyway, surely?” Kaori asked.

“Well…” Akane paused, looking to the door once more, “Not necessarily. I guess.”

“You _guess_?”

“Forget it. Doesn’t matter.”

Perhaps out of politeness more than anything, the trio by Akane’s side maintained their silence for a minute, exchanging looks as their companion began to fidget in her seat.

“Akane, do you know what the detective wants to speak to your brother about?”

“The incident of course.”

“Yes, but what _specifically_?” Yukie tried again, “I mean, no offense but… you two weren’t made to join the parties like Oikawa and Akaashi. So… provided you kept your heads down and behaved, you’d both be safe, no?”

 Kaori nudged her partner in the side with a grunt, finding no tact to Yukie’s speech. “They suffered just as much. Can you imagine being in their situation? Wondering whether your sibling is really safe or not? A simple mistake from either of them would’ve-”

“Now you’re being too vocal.” Yukie interjected, wary of the slump in Akane’s mood. “I know there were risks. Point is these two can’t know a lot of information compared to Oikawa and Akaashi. So why exactly is Ukai taking an interest in them?”

“ _Him_.” Akane mumbled.

“Huh?”

“He’s interested in Tora, not me.” Akane clarified with a huff,  half irritated by the conversation, and at the office door ahead which remained shut. “When we were living in that mansion, Tora and I weren’t kept together. Not all the time anyway.”

“What?!”

“But you told us you were-”

“Always with one another, I know.” Akane confessed. “And we were to begin with, so it’s not a total lie. But after a while Tora’s workload was lessened, and his free time would be spent elsewhere.”

“ _Where?”_

“I dunno’, he’s never told me. Every other night the guards would come down to our cells and take him away, Oikawa too if he wasn’t at a party. When they returned they didn’t speak much. Tora always told me that things were fine.” Akane bit her lower lip as she finished, her fingers back to fumbling with the ends of her hair. “But it wasn’t fine. Not at all-”

“Hey…” Alisa leant in, placing her palm to Akane’s shoulder in a wordless plea. “What wasn’t fine?”

“I… forget it-”

“There’s no better time to talk, y’know.” Yukie reassured kindly, Kaori nodding in support. “So tell us the truth, was he moody? Ever take it out on you at all?”

“Of course not!” Akane blurted, sitting upright at last. The very notion had her eyes grow large, but soon her surprise was masked with an air of sadness, and her gaze dulled in recollection of events past. “He just… wasn’t himself. I guess you could say it was like he was drunk, so, at first I thought _‘sure, maybe he did go up to those parties…?’_ Only then I realised, there’s no way he could have.”

“Why’s that?”

“Because he never smelt of alcohol, not even once, and that’s the instant give away right?”

Akane looked to the group, met with unknowing stares and lips in tight, thin lines. Perhaps they doubted her, but on what grounds?

“Anyway…” Akane resumed after some time, “Sometimes he’d return with deep cuts on him, which he’d ignore completely no matter what I said-”

“Akane-”

 Alisa made to speak out first, but her voice was overshadowed by Kaori’s louder, concerned tone. “It’s not difficult to figure out what happened. He went to the parties, drunk a bit, and maybe… who knows, maybe he fell over, or got into a fight. Guys do that.”

“Tora doesn’t do that.” Akane stated defensively. “He may look rough, but he wouldn’t do it. He wouldn’t have touched a single drink all the while we were trapped in that mansion!”

“I’m raising a possibility-”

“You’re being stupid and judgemental.”    

“ _Akane-!”_ Yukie scolded, alarmed by her friend’s remark. Whilst Akane’s pain was understandable, such attitude had limits, and there was no need to take matters out on others.

“Leave her be.” Kaori gave a weak smile, proceeding to pat Yukie’s upper arm. “She’s stressed, and our wild accusations aren’t helping.”

“Meanwhile you’re being too nice.” Yukie protested beneath her breath, then returned her attention to Akane, who had since attempted to calm herself. “Well whatever… D’you think there’s a reason the detective isn’t interested in your side of things?”

“Mhm. There’s no doubt I’m just a silly little girl in his eyes. You hear how he calls us all kids don’t you?”

“That’s true.” Alisa conceded. “But I don’t think your gender, or age, plays a role in this.”

“Eh, I dunno’, I’m with Akane on that one.” Kaori shrugged. “The detective’s old, and backwards with it too most likely.”

“You don’t know that-”

“I bet he is.” Yukie added, Akane nodding her head up and down quickly in approval.

“It makes sense if he is.”

Alisa shook her head. “But he’s not! The Roost is proof of it!”

“Huh…?”

 Alisa paused to take a breath after her tame outburst, smoothing the fabric of her skirt with both hands to distract from further anger. “Ukai helped fund the Roost, our home. Maybe he holds shares in it, I’m not entirely sure, but suffice to say he has some say in what goes on here.”

“Which means…?” Akane asked.

“It means our way of life has been approved by him.” Alisa wore a simple, peaceful smile when she spoke thereafter, gesturing to the group below with a tilt of her head, “Take the boys down there… some of them are in relationships which society finds outrageous, and it’s not just them. Many others in this establishment, including you two, Yukie and Kaori… You’re allowed to love one another here without risk of being punished for it.”

“That-”

“… That’s true.” Said Yukie, glancing in her partner’s direction.

“Precisely. We girls are much more fortunate than those beyond the Roost.” Alisa clarified, “We’re not forced into marrying, or having children. Goodness, if the people of Vol had their way I’d have been married years ago, and probably raising two or three children by now.”

“Your children would be beautiful.” Kaori mused.

“Assuming she wasn’t married off to some horrible old man in the north of the city.” Yukie jeered. “And we all know that would be highly likely.”

“I’d rather not think about it.” Alisa droned, “Although marriage isn’t a _terrible_ idea, provided you find someone you like... and you know, they like you in return.”

“ _Oho?”_

Successfully distracted from her earlier overthinking, Akane cast a knowing gaze Alisa’s way. “Might we know who you’re on about?”

“Not now, please.” Alisa protested, “I was merely explaining under what circumstances I would consider marrying. I never said I had someone in mind.”

“I hope you weren’t after one of our lot.” Yukie snorted, “Bad luck if so, only one of ‘em is available now.”

“Indeed, and to think, Washio would have been perfect husband material…” Kaori uttered amidst a sigh, as if she were disappointed. Fortunately for her, her view was shared, and the group nodded and huffed at the very thought of what could have been.

“Still, it’s not like Onaga is a bad option. He’s very kind.” Akane prompted to break the hush, and this time Alisa shot a smile in Akane’s direction.

“Aha…”

“I didn’t mean anythin’ by it!”

“And I don’t recall making a comment.”

“But I know what you were gonna’ say!”    

“Consider me lost.” Yukie surrendered, Kaori’s bewildered expression mirroring her own. Unfortunately, the two women of the Cats group would not divulge further details, and instead continued to engage in a stare off.

“Taketora would agree with me.” Alisa provoked.

“Would not!”

“I might ask him when he comes out.”

“Fine, I’ll just get him to say who you like, even if it’s obvious.” Akane concluded, poking her tongue out shortly after.

 Although tempted to pursue the topic of Tora further, Yukie resisted when their lively Akane began to surface. There was a time and a place for such talk, and the longer they could distract the unfortunate girl, the better.

 

“So, how else will you two be spending your day?” She spoke up following some consideration, opting to ask safe questions for now. “Got any work to sort out before the show?”

“I have the day off, so I might help one of the other groups.” Said Alisa, earning a rabble of _awws_ and sighs. Truly, she was too generous for her own good.

“I’m just gonna’ take it easy.” Akane contrasted the elder woman brilliantly yet again, “I heard there’ll be another round of rehearsals in the Dome tonight, so I’ll watch that.”

“Oh!”

“And you two?” Alisa motioned to Yukie and Kaori.

“Ehh, we’re working on the Owls costumes. His lordship Aki commands it.”

“Pardon?”

Overcome with excitement Yukie sat up in her seat and opened her mouth, readying a more colourful insult. “You know the one-!”

“Konoha.” Kaori shot with a disapproving glare, causing Yukie to recline in her seat with a sound in disapproval.

“Yeah, that one.” She grumbled in defeat, “He’s become a real perfectionist over those outfits, claims they’re too small here, too loose there… it’s a pain, honestly.”

“Though he had no complaints about our adjustments to Washio’s top, remember…?” Kaori chuckled, hoping to raise Yukie’s spirits once more.

“Oh, what? When we made the armholes bigger to show off his chest?”

“Right.”

 And so the tables turned, metaphorically speaking, with Alisa and Akane watching as the two Owls chattered and giggled amongst themselves, totally oblivious to their presence. Be that as it may, the pair couldn’t find the means to stop them, nor the group below, for their excitement had brought about a new lease of life to the Hall.

“Hey Alisa… why don’t you go see him?” Akane leant in close to whisper, jerking her head towards the group down on the ground floor. “It’s not often that he’s away from rehearsi-”

“Perhaps another time.” Alisa uttered beneath her breath, wary that Yukie and Kaori might join in their conversation.

“But that could be ages away, given how busy we are this show season! Now c’mon, I’m sure he’d like it.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“How so? If you- y’know, feel that way about one another then-” Akane halted when Alisa placed a hand over her own, then shook her head softly.

“The Roost may like to turn a blind eye to most relationships, but in this case there are complications that might cause genuine concern.”

“ _Alisa._ ” The younger girl puffed up her cheeks, then swiped her hand away. “I get it, I do. But-”

Whatever Akane hoped to say was lost when she caught a figure out from the corner of her eye, a blur of black, tan and white from the opposite balcony.

“Akane?”

“The hell is he doing in there…?”

 Akane, rightly slack jawed in that instant, was referring to Kuroo, who had just surfaced from the office opposite. He was too distracted by the clipboard in his grip to notice his audience however, scribbling at it furiously with a pencil.  

“Akane-” Alisa repeated when the girl stood up with a clenched fist, attracting Yukie and Kaori’s attention as well. “Maybe Tora left without you realising?”

“Nope, he’s in there alright. He’s gotta’ be.” Akane nodded with a sudden burst of determination, looking to Kuroo then to Alisa. “I’m gonna’ find out what he knows.”

“He probably won’t tell you.”

“Oi, what’s going on?” Yukie quipped, tilting her head. “You leaving us already?”

“I’ll be around tonight, in the Dome like I said.” Akane promised, making her way round the table, “You have work to do anyway.”

“It can wait!”

“But Konoha can’t.” Kaori snorted, immune to her partner’s pouting and frowning in protest. “Now let her go, she’s got important things to do.”

“Exactly.” Akane declared boldly then paused for effect, jabbing an index finger towards Alisa next, “As for you, go down there. It’s for your own good.”

“But I already told you-”

“ _Bye!_ ”

“Ah-…” Alisa felt her tongue stick, and the remaining words ripped from her mouth before she could finish her sentence. Akane had bolted off with such an alarming display of energy that quite frankly the trio pitied the unknowing, wandering Kuroo, still staring hard at the documents on his clipboard.

 

 

“Pink, yellow- no, that’s not right, it was orange before yellow…”

 Prickly, cold… Kuroo’s skin stung with a barb-like tension, becoming sensitive to each fold and pull of his face when he frowned. The conversation in the office had proven useful, or utterly pointless, depending on how one looked at it, and for what it was worth, Kuroo hadn’t the faintest clue where he stood, or what to believe.

“ _-roo!_ ”

 Taketora didn’t strike the sort to lie, but his account held no relevance to the facts Kuroo possessed regarding 1898, and if it didn’t match, he didn’t consider it worth knowing. Up until this moment he relied upon one belief: that the tabloid reports and clippings gathered by himself, Sugawara and Daichi were the truth, as were Ukai’s theories. Therefore a vague, jumbled account from one of the incident’s victims couldn’t possibly be worth accepting, surely…?

“ _Kuroo!!_ ”

 In a blur of colour Kuroo’s path to the courtyard entrance was blocked, and his eyes locked with wild, overblown pupils. They weren’t necessarily frightening, but they possessed a might, an intense concoction of foreign emotions Kuroo had yet to witness in Bokuto, or anyone else for that matter, which set his nerves awry.

“Yamamoto.” He said briefly, adopting the business tone as a defensive front. With any luck it would mask his state of shock, and keep their conversation brief. “Can I help you?”

“Well you can start by using my first name.” Akane shot quickly, then recovered her composure, “Where are you headed?”

“The Dorms.” Kuroo stated with as much disinterest as possible, side stepping round Akane to continue his walk. Unravelling Taketora’s riddle of a statement this afternoon would be a huge task in itself, and by no means did he intend on wasting additional time pandering to the whims of his hysterical, overprotective sister.

“I’m going there as well.” Said Akane, matching Kuroo’s stride.

“That’s nice.”

“Wanna’ talk?”

“Not particularly. I’m busy.” Kuroo elaborated with a tone flat enough to rival Kenma’s, meanwhile opening the doors to the courtyard with an exaggerated pull. Dare he say it, Kenma likely sounded ecstatic in comparison, and sure enough Kuroo’s attitude, and the incoming winds, stopped Akane in her tracks.  

“Busy doing _what_?”

“Business.” Kuroo permitted her a brief explanation, but nothing more as he picked up his pace towards the Dorms. Persistent, as any outright insulted person would be, Akane maintained her pursuit, stomping hard with her boots as she went. Maybe it was her anger which carried her along, or desperation to escape the winter air, but she returned to Kuroo’s side in good speed, waiting patiently for him to tuck his clipboard under his arm, then grab for the door handle.

“Is my brother still in the office? Tell me that much at least.”

“Of course he is.” Kuroo grumbled, opening the door with a harsh tug. “After you.”

 

 Akane knew a fruitless endeavour when she saw one. Granted Kuroo had recalled his manners in the last second, but during the first flight of stairs they climbed his lips were sealed, and eye level cast skywards.

“There’s… something I want to ask you.”

“Hm?” Akane perked up with hope, albeit annoyed when the man insisted on staring at anything but her.

“You interested in science at all?”  

“Not really.”

“Pity.” Kuroo uttered, sub consciously feeling for the clipboard with his right hand just in case he’d somehow lost it on his journey. “Well, I suppose I’m not talking about science specifically, more psychology, and theories about the human mind.”

“Fascinating.” The sarcasm in Akane’s voice rang clear, “Is this the kind of talk that won Kenma’s heart?”

 Alarmed, Kuroo almost tripped on the next step, and met Akane at last with a dangerous glare. No amount of anger could deter the woman however, whose eyes conveyed that unusual light in them again. The light Kuroo soon came to dislike.

“Perhaps it’s the same for you…?”

“You what?”

 Opting to remain a cautious, yet aggravating sort Kuroo hummed and strode up the following steps with more energy. Up he went past the first floor, the girls’ floor, hoping that Akane might take her leave then, but she refused, and those ridiculous, large and determined eyes came with her.

“Have you considered how your mind has been affected by 1898?” Kuroo pondered, glancing down the corridor of the Crows floor when they reached it next. “Only after seeing your brother today, I had a thought about it, and it reminded me of a book I read a while back.”

“What’s your point?”

“I’m merely saying you’ve both been disturbed by your experience, like Oikawa and Akaashi.”

Akane wrinkled her nose in disdain. “Your wording could be better.”

“I suppose.” Kuroo entertained that thought with a shrug, making quick work past the Plants floor where a curiously hesitant Matsukawa stood, with Hanamaki hiding in his shadow, waiting for the two Cats to pass. His stare was blown wide, as if he had been expecting someone else to arrive, but Kuroo disregarded the matter as another trivial detail.

It seemed the number of strange, damaged people in the Roost was much larger than he first anticipated.

 

“So what’s the point of your talk? Of us being ‘disturbed’?” Akane demanded, her words laced with bitterness. She deserved a reply, if not an apology for such baseless slander, and only when they reached the Cats floor did Kuroo oblige, turning to face her at last.

“It’s simple, really. Because you’re disturbed, you developed coping methods. Oikawa takes solace in Iwaizumi, Akaashi locks himself away, and you two…” Kuroo inhaled deep, and narrowed his gaze, “That’s what I’m curious about. What it is _you’ve_ done.”

“I’ve lived my life, moved on-”

“Liar. No one could after that.” Kuroo proceeded, giving no opportunity for Akane to interrupt, “Though I can say for a fact your brother has grown delusional.”

 With a single, condemning word a horrible, burning tension riled in Akane’s innards. Her cheeks prickled with an uncomfortable heat, and her shoulders bunched up tight about her ears as she clenched both fists by her sides. “ _Excuse me?_ ”

“Delusional. Mad. Whatever terms takes your fancy.” Kuroo specified with a lack of care, “He’s so upset with whatever occurred in that mansion that he’s fabricating memories in a bid to survive.”

 Overwhelmed, Akane shook her head in disbelief. Her palms had grown clammy amidst their talk, and her fingers curled into fists when Kuroo spouted such baseless logic. This was not the same man she’d met weeks ago, whose outlook was bold, optimistic dare she say it. No, this Kuroo was the absolute opposite, a lunatic with far too much authority and no grounds of which to blatantly haul her brother’s name through the dirt.

“He’s not mad.” She pressed in warning tone.

“Not officially, but he is a mess.” Kuroo replied dismissively, “Everyone in that office can back me up. He failed on numerous occasions to give Ukai a straightforward answer, and other times he refused to speak altogether. How does that come across to you?”

“Maybe there’s things he didn’t want to say!”

“Why?”

“Why…?” Akane repeated, struck with a sense of unease. “W-Why else? He was nervous, anyone would be in a room with you nosy, stupid men sticking your noses into everyone’s business! Hell, Ukai threw me out saying I was biased, and unnecessary… but what we _should_ be asking is what right do _you_ have being there for the investigation?! You’re a complete stranger to the case!”

“I’ve been following it the last two years-”

“ _But I was there!!”_

To that Kuroo finally withdrew his air of confidence, holding the clipboard as if to shield whatever hole Akane had blown straight through his argument.

“… That you were.” He accepted under his breath. “But it doesn’t change the fact I’m now involved with the investigation. I will find whatever truth there is in your brother’s statement, assuming there is any, but until then I suggest you keep quiet. Ukai will call you if you’re needed.”

“ _You-”_

“I can’t offer much else.” Kuroo concluded, holding his hands up in defeat, “That said… if you’d really like to be of use, get your brother looked at by those doctors. I need a professional report on his health. If it turns out you’re right, and he’s a sane as you claim, we can take his word as the truth. Otherwise… well, I should think it obvious.”

Akane shook her head quickly at the very prospect, her eyes frantically searching the hallway. There were some papers littered by her feet and the staircase to her right, which lead to the Owls floor, alongside a stray glass bottle and some wooden crates.

“Kuroo please, I don’t know what’s happened, but you have to believe me. Tora isn’t lying to you, he’s not deluded-”

“I’m not going to argue this all day.” Kuroo remarked, turning his back to Akane as he walked to his room. “Go back to the Hall.”

“Just hear me out, I have an idea as to why he’s confused-”

“As do I.”

“ _No you don’t!!”_

 

Glass shattered.

 

 It hit the walls, rebounding off the doors, and by some miracle missed Kuroo, who stared in horror at the wall the bottle had hit, a space not too far from his head. The whites of his eyes were bright, illuminated in the darkness of the corridor where he stood, and he honed them fiercely upon a trembling Akane.

“What the _fuck_ are you playing at?!”

“I-I’m sorry!” Akane looked to her open hand in terror. She couldn’t recall grabbing the bottle by the stairs, let alone throwing it. Why it… it was complete blank. As if the devil himself had possessed her hand. “Y-You wouldn’t listen and I- I just panicked alright?!”

“You could’ve killed me!! Blinded me at the very least!”

“ _I didn’t mean to-!!_ ”

“Go back to the Hall. Now.” Kuroo scowled, his eyes on the girl all the while he stepped back into his room, and slammed the door behind him.

 

 Fear stricken, Akane gawked at the entrance to Kuroo and Kenma’s room, but it was not for her sake that she felt scared. She did not care for whatever Kuroo might think of her, or might say to the others, she cared only for the outcome that this might have upon her brother. Maybe, she considered bitterly, she should have saved herself the trouble of throwing the bottle and written ‘lunatic’ on her forehead instead, for no matter what she said, or how hard she tried to persuade the man, Kuroo would do as he pleased, and Tora would undoubtedly face the consequences.

“What an idiot…!” She hissed, awash with the shame of her own stupidity.

 Akane daren’t think what would come of her next. All she could do was be thankful that the other Cats had left for rehearsals, and were unable to witness the drama first hand. She was additionally thankful for Tora’s absence, above anyone else, and could only imagine his face, beaten and deflated in disappointment.  

Or perhaps, contrary to her beliefs, she was not so fortunate. Adrift the adrenaline, the noise and the shock Akane had not thought about the door to her right, the door to the spare room as she knew it.

“Who’re you…?!”

Albeit a slim crack, the door was ajar, and through it Akane locked eyes with a single, black pupil. It almost resembled a ball, she determined, a lifeless shape set in porcelain skin, which in turn complemented the figure’s dark cut of hair.

“… You missed.”

 

 

“You’re really fucking late.” Futakuchi grumbled in a low, deep breath, scanning the group ahead. He, alongside Aone and Yamiji, stood with the Owls in the corridor which connected the Hall and the main Roost entrance, their faces glowing in the light of the small bulbs which ran along the walls on either side.

“Apologies, some of us were caught up in conversation.” Yamiji insisted, weaving through the huddle of Owls to stand beside the disgruntled Futakuchi. “As they say, better late than never, hm?”

“I guess, but time’s not on your side, you realise?”

“Of course, and we are prepared.” The elder responded in a cool commanding tone. It was sufficient enough to please Futakuchi, fortunately, who rolled his eyes and rapped his knuckles against the iron door behind him.

“Alright, well listen up. Some of you have spent so long in the Dome you might’ve forgotten what the rest of the Roost looks like, in which case this here,” he knocked against the door one more time for emphasis, “This is what we call the main entrance. It’s really big, heavy, and I get pissed off dragging it back and forth all day.”

“It’s our job.” Aone commented, only to be hushed with a raise of Futakuchi’s eyebrows.

“Point is this is the door you’ll be using, whether I like it or not.”

“But why not the secret door?” Bokuto piped up amidst the sea of heads, “We know how to get in.”

“Too risky.” Said Aone. “Might get seen.”

“But we used it the first day Kuroo and I got here.”

“Only because it wasn’t so busy that day.” Futakuchi detailed further. “Nowadays the streets are filled with the drunk, stupid and curious all in one hit. All it takes is for one of ‘em to watch you guys use the door, learn the trick and then sneak in themselves.”

“Good point.” Konoha jibed, smiling towards the scruffier Owls. “Are you two going to be out front all day?”

“Only for the evening, who the fuck else is gonna’ let you back in?”

“… Ah.”

“Well whatever,” Futakuchi grunted, rubbing at the back of his neck, “Just make sure you all return, okay? Not sure how I’ll cope if there’s less people to verbally shit on.”

“What?” Konoha gawked.

“Don’t think too hard on it.” Futakuchi stressed, then shoved his way through the group in a bid for the Hall, “Aone will show you out.”

“But-!”

Konoha expelled a weighty breath when his protest fell on deaf ears, and Futakuchi continued his march. He was an absolute arsehole at the best of times, but to walk out on a conversation was unlike him.

“Leave ‘im be.” Said Aone, kindness evident in his voice, “He doesn’t like this idea. Worried what might happen to yer.”

“Oh…”

“Makes sense.” Washio agreed, shifting his attention to the other Owls. They too appeared to grasp some understanding of the situation, and kept their mouths shut for good measure. “Do we have everything prepared?”

“More or less.” Konoha answered, “I think we got the basics down.”

“Futakuchi’s?”

“Ours, silly. Although his weren’t too far off.”

“Speakin’ of which, I still don’t like the thought of callin’ you ‘sir’.” Komi chipped in, “But I guess if we gotta’-”

“You don’t have to.” Said Konoha.

“Huh?”

Konoha simply shrugged. “You can use our normal names if you like. That is to say, if you’re happy with the possibility that we might get recognised by old employers, and our lives subsequently put in jeopardy.”

“Jepawhat?”

“Basically don’t do it.” Washio interjected, “If the title bothers you that badly work around it, be creative. So as long as you stay in character it doesn’t matter.”

“Alrighty.” Komi rather liked that idea, bobbing his head up and down in thought. That said, he couldn’t help but consider one other issue, a distinct Akaashi-like problem stood to his right.

 

 Akaashi had barely spoken since they arrived in the corridor, and with his deadpan expression he held about as much charisma as a brick wall, Komi noted with a not-so-subtle snort. In fact, the last time Akaashi looked so inconvenienced was the day Bokuto showed up, giving a strong indicator of how excited, or not, Akaashi was for their little trip across the city.

“… Is there a problem?”

Having spied Komi’s rare moment of reflection Akaashi took the initiative to question the exact cause, his eyes narrowed in wait.

“Uh… not really. Just curious.” Komi began, lowering his voice when Yamiji signalled for the Owls to gather up. “We’re about to leave, you know.”

“I noticed.” Akaashi spoke in a formulaic fashion, hoping that would appease the other man. With that said he then shifted his attention to Bokuto, who for reasons unknown ignored Yamiji’s command altogether, and was taking up what little space they had to do a running jump off the wall. “What of it?”

“Well.” Komi cleared his throat loudly, then shut up altogether. There was a point to his question, of course, but with Akaashi in his current mood there was no hope of getting a proper answer either. “Nevermind, don’t worry about it.”

“Apologies. Should I have answered differently?”

 _Yes._ Komi practically screamed in his head, all the while maintaining a big grin on the outside. The total absence of fear, nerves... any emotion at all from Akaashi was bizarre, and well worth questioning, but of course Komi knew a dead end when he saw one.

“Nah, you’re good.” He chuckled, closing the matter with an overzealous slap to Akaashi’s arm.  In accordance to Komi’s low expectations, Akaashi said nothing, and wandered to the front half of the group as a formation of sorts finally came to fruition.

 

“Get in position.” Washio’s voice, deep and authoritative, came into focus as Komi turned his head about. The command was directed at him, presumably, given how a large hand clamped onto his shoulder next, and led him to the back of the line with a bored looking Sarukui. His eyes were half lidded, like always, but the shaping of his eyebrows were much more distinct, Komi realised, and the biggest indication of his feelings.

“Cheer up.”

 Sarukui barely shifted, raising both brows in Komi’s direction before tugging his scarf down. “... You know I’m not supposed to talk.”

“But we’re whispering.” Komi snickered.

“That’s not the point.” Sarukui stated, then looked ahead once more. It was a dismissive answer, no doubt a desperate one too, for Sarukui had no intention of being embarrassed in front of the others by another of Komi’s stupid ideas.

Fortunately for him, public embarrassment wasn’t Komi’s prime goal, not yet at least, and after a good pause he leant in close, hidden in the shadow of Konoha and Washio.

“I’m gonna’ miss your voice.” he uttered, stifling a ripple of laughter in the process. “Amongst other sounds.”

“ _Ssh._ ” Sarukui hissed, frantically checking to see if anybody had turned round. As luck would have it however they were too preoccupied with Yamiji and his monotonous droning, something important about groups, and splitting up… who knew.

Meanwhile, Komi stood up straight with a disgruntled pout. He didn’t take well to Sarukui’s blatant refusals, but then again, he never really liked anybody telling him no.

“To be honest...” he started once more, to Sarukui’s dismay, “I think this’ll work out.”

“Of course.” the other mumbled.

“I meant you being silent. That’s gonna’ be great.” Komi elaborated, relishing in the widening of Sarukui’s eyes, the one sign that he’d finally broken through his patience.   

“... You’d rather I _didn’t_ talk?”

Someone, most likely Konoha, cleared his throat excessively loud, startling them for a moment.

“It’s not that.” Komi eventually resumed in a flat tone.

“Then what?”

“It has its advantages, that’s all.” Komi teased, smirking when Sarukui cocked his head with furrowed brows. It was a rather sweet sight all things considered, one which had Komi’s smirk widening before he turned to look straight ahead, staring at Washio’s back.

“Don’t you worry.”

Sarukui worried, naturally.

 


	23. Timber

_You missed._

  During that harrowing, dense silence Akane churned the words over and over in her mind, startled by the single black pupil lurking behind the door. It remained fixated upon her, dull and unblinking whilst the stranger gradually pulled the door back to reveal himself.

  He was garbed completely in black, emphasising his frost-like complexion, the pale dusty pink of his lips, and why, he might as well have been a doll, Akane contemplated, scanning the stretch of his flawless skin with considerable envy.

“Excuse me…?” She eventually croaked, surprised to find her throat so dry.

“… You should throw with conviction,” He stated flatly, “Or else there’s no point.”

“It was an accident.” Akane clarified, suddenly determined. The shock of the new arrival had her completely forget about Kuroo for a moment, until an image of that condescending grin, and ridiculous mop of hair flashed before her eyes, and roused the anger up once more. “Forget you saw this.”

“I’m glad you did it.” The man elaborated, his tone devoid of any joy however, “Just sad you missed. A waste-”

“ _An accident.”_ Akane stressed in defiance, then took a step back. The heel of her boot crunched down hard on something then, a shard of glass most likely, causing her to look back at the kitchen on instinct. She had to clean up the glass before the others returned, and with that thought turned on her heel, ready to take her leave. “If you’ll excuse me.”

The man cocked his head, evidently curious. “But you’re-”

_"Let her go Hiroo, unless you want the crazy bitch to attack us too.”_

 

Following that remark Akane put her escape plan on hold, slowly pivoting on her heel to face the stranger.

“Who…?”

 The man simply stared, blank faced as ever when the hallway became flooded with the ripples of a horrible cackling. Someone was highly amused with their own insight, presumably, and had the nerve to laugh until their breathing became ragged.

_“Get back in here already… she’s not worth your time!”_

 

The last thread of Akane’s patience snapped.

 

“Hiroo, was it?”

 Enriched with a newfound resolve, Akane met Hiroo’s stare dead on. Her voice barely hitched when she spoke, and her hands stuck firm to her hips as she gestured to the open door. “Would you mind?”

“I insist.” Hiroo stressed the final word, then stepped aside.

 

 _Out of the frying pan, and into the fire_ , Akane mused as she stepped into the spare room. It had barely been used the past two years, and sure enough very little had changed from her recollection, save for the addition of a few luggage cases, and the strange man tucked up in bed with a wicked smile.

“I don’t recall saying you could come in.” His smile faltered for a split second, then crumbled completely when Akane strode up to the bed.

“I heard what you called me.” She began with knotted brows, earning a laugh in response.

“Well then congratulations, your ears work perfectly fine.” The man grinned, tilting his head to one side, “Anything else you need me to clarify?”

“You can give me your name.” Akane insisted.

“I could. But that’d be the polite thing to do.” He snickered, struggling to haul himself into a sitting position. Something about his posture was off… no, Akane frowned at his torso, and the immediate strain in his breathing… he was injured, undoubtedly.

“Sakijima.” Hiroo, now stood by the desk on the other end of the room, chipped in bluntly.  “That’s his name.”

“Interfering shit.” Sakijima grumbled, shooting Hiroo a glare before returning his attention to Akane. “Alright, what about _you_ then?”

“It’s Akane.”

“ _Brilliant.”_ Sakijima scoffed, biting down on his amusement. “Sorry but… I don’t think we’re on a first name basis yet.”

“I have to agree,” Akane deadpanned, “But it’s easier that way.”

“Eh I dunno’, Crazy Bitch suited you better.” Sakijima contemplated with raised brows, “I mean you’ve already got the mad hair going on, it’s perfect.”

“I prefer Akane.” She threatened in a low tone.

“Oh c’mon, how about I shorten it? C.B perhaps, or just bitch?”

“Maybe you could call her by her name.” Hiroo interrupted.

“Oh piss off, I didn’t ask for your input.” Sakijima glared then shoved his middle finger up, causing Akane to wrinkle her nose in disdain. His entire act was crude, unnecessary, and she wondered how Hiroo could stomach it.

  Or maybe he couldn’t, Akane wondered when the man expelled a long and weighty breath before returning his attention to the nearby window. His response, or lack of, provoked another thought in her mind, and she bit her lip in contemplation before making it known.

“… Why’re you so angry all the time?”

Sakijima slipped seamlessly into a grin. “I dunno’, why do you feel compelled to hurl bottles at people?”

“That’s none of yo-”

“And who was the person you were trying to defend?” Sakijima wouldn’t let Akane get a word in edgeways, curious to know more about her argument with Kuroo, “Are they as mad as you? Do they batter people with glass as well?”

 Trembling then, Akane clenched a fist tight. The very notion of Kuroo sat at his desk mere metres away, mulling over Tora’s testimony like some amateur news report, was enough to make her stomach flip, but knowing that Sakijima had overheard the majority of their argument as well… that she could not comprehend.

“Not gonna’ say, huh?” Sakijima relaxed with a knowing hum. Luck permitting, she might burst into tears there and then, or so he hoped anyway, for he always enjoyed the sight of a broken individual. Their expressions lost, shattered… defeated.

 “… You’re horrible.” She mumbled with eyes downcast. “Why on earth did Sugawara and Daichi let you in?”

“Because they’re idiots.” Sakijima mock pouted, overjoyed by Akane’s deflated posture. “Though I guess that’s kinda’ harsh, given they didn’t know what was coming. But it was stupid of them to sign us up without checking. Is it like that with everyone here? Can anybody walk in if they choose?”

“Shut up.” Akane warned darkly in an effort which grasped even Hiroo’s attention, and had him arch a brow in curiosity.

  There was very little which caught Hiroo’s interest, a couple of people and things at best, but perhaps he could extend the list to accommodate Akane. She was a strong, _different_ sort all in all, and he pitied Sakijima for not noticing as much himself.

“Sorry, what was that?” Sakijima teased. “You mumbled.”

“I said shut up.” Akane snapped this time, “You know nothing about them, or the Roost!”

 “That’s true, but _think_ about it!” Elated by the conflict, that Akane was at least _trying_ to bite back, Sakjima’s shrill voice cut through the room, “There’s that defensive lot on the top floor, the deranged doctors, and now you- the lunatic who lobs glass bottles at people’s heads… I’d say you should all be locked up, but then I guess that’s the point of this _pla-!!”_

 Whatever Sakijima endeavoured to say next was lost, muffled when Akane snatched the pillow from the bed and proceeded to whack him round the head. It wasn’t a bottle, granted, but it certainly did the trick in silencing him.

  Scratch that, it _stunned_ him. Even Hiroo, who proved to be no sprightlier than a walking corpse, conveyed some degree of shock as Akane went in for a second strike.

 

Then another.

 

And another.

 

 “What the hell are you doing?!” Sakijima roared indignantly, using his forearm as shield against Akane’s assault. Call him a hypocrite but the woman was relentless, and utterly unjustified in her ways as she continuously battered him with the pillow. “You’re really not changing my mind here!!”

“Just… _shut up!”_ Akane went on as she pleased, changing her angle every now and then to catch Sakijima off guard. “Y-You’re so vile!!”

“And you’ve lost it!!” Sakijima exclaimed, whipping his head in Hiroo’s direction only to be hit yet again, and sent tumbling onto his back, _“Stop her will you?!”_

“No.” Hiroo outright rejected him. Work partners or not, Sakijima was indeed rather foul, and wholly deserving of the wrath of this enraged young woman and her pillow.

 _"I’m injured!”_ Came Sakijima’s protest somewhere in the background, followed by a strangled sound from Akane as she bludgeoned him some more. _“You can’t-… argh, you stupid woman! Leave me alone already!”_

“She might do, if you ask nicely.” Hiroo proposed, about to crack an elusive, beautiful smile when he spotted a huge silhouette from the corner of his eye, and snapped his jaw shut.

 

“Daishou.”

 

“Shit-” Sakijima cursed with such a foreign, frantic expression that Akane stopped dead in her tracks, clutching the pillow as she stared at the wall ahead. His reaction alone was enough to render her silent, listening to the slow, steady footsteps approaching the bed, and the light rustling of fur when Daishou finally stopped.

“… How unusual.” He began, looming over Sakijima, “I didn’t think you were into women.”

“Oh fuck off.” Sakijima snarled, having fast recovered from his state of shock. “Hiroo’s the one who brought her in.”

“You insulted her. I let her walk in.” Hiroo corrected, bored of the conversation already. “It’s a long story. We overheard her arguing.”

“Then you should’ve left her be!” Daishou scolded, whipping his head in Hiroo’s direction, “Since when were you two so interested in other people’s affairs?!”

“But she was fighting with that writer.” Hiroo explained calmly, “Threw the bottle at him too.”

There was another rustle from the fur and Daishou paused, his face riddled with disbelief.

“ _That_ writer?”

Hiroo gave a firm dip of his head, and Akane swallowed hard, praying that she was invisible to the new arrival.

“… Then she should be congratulated, not ridiculed!” Daishou professed, snatching the pillow from an unsuspecting Akane to bring it down on Sakijima’s head one final time. “And you should be grateful she didn’t have a second bottle!”

Well, consider Akane surprised. Someone else in the Roost had a similar disliking for Kuroo.

 _But now’s not the time to be impressed_ , she corrected herself, making careful steps towards the door. The men were distracted, and it was time to leave.

 

 “What’s your name?” Daishou called out, causing her to stumble mid step. Her efforts to escape were sadly predictable, yet endearing, he noted with a roll of his eyes. “Anyone with enough sense to try and kill that man, and beat Sakijima, is worth knowing.”

“I’m leaving.” She retorted, disinclined to spend more time in the room than necessary. Needless to say the snakes had other plans however, and Daishou wandered over with a slight bounce to his step.

“Unfortunate name.” He jibed, leaning in to get a glimpse of Akane’s face. “Really though, who are you?”

“It’s called Akane.” Sakijima scowled. “Refuses to give it’s family name for some reason.”

“I didn’t _refuse_.” Akane snapped, whirring her head round briskly. “I said it’s easier to use my first name!”

“Because you’re a secretive witch.”

“No! Because it’s e-”

Akane stilled her tongue when a finger tapped the underneath of her chin. It was trivial gesture, but sufficiently condescending that she felt inclined to reward the culprit, Daishou, with the biggest, most threatening glare she could muster.

“Don’t touch me.”

“I’d run Dai, she’ll stab you.” Sakijima chuckled in the background, only to huff when Daishou shook his head slowly.

“She won’t.”

“I might, if you push me.” Akane declared, puffing up her chest.

_“Ha!”_

 

 To the surprise of all Daishou took a step back and broke into a high pitched laugh, slapping a hand over his mouth to stifle it fast. None of his audience knew quite what was going on, but nor would they find out all the while he was lost in his own amusement.

_“… I knew it!”_

 Disgust twisted Sakijima’s features. People were generally loathsome creatures in his opinion, but he hated the laughing ones more than anything, especially if he was oblivious to their joke. “What the hell is wrong with you?”

“It’s perfect, really.” Daishou snorted, inhaling deep to calm himself. “They’re the same.”

 _“Who?”_ Sakijima barked impatiently.

“She has a _brother_ , you idiot! Couldn’t you tell?!” Daishou looked incredulous as he spoke, motioning to a gobsmacked Akane, “Same eyes. Same attitude. It’s very obvious.”

“Oh.”

This time Hiroo chose to approach Akane for a closer inspection, then nodded to Daishou in agreement. “I see it now. The one with all those muscles.”

“Well-” Daishou blatantly tripped at the first hurdle when a glimpse of Tora’s physique came to mind. It certainly was one of his defining features, to say the least. “Yes. Those. There’s his hair too, but anyway-”

 Akane, rightly curious and alarmed with this revelation, had taken to gawking at Daishou in fascination. Thanks to her earlier conversation with Alisa, she’d learnt that the newcomers were staying with the Cats, but there was no mention regarding whom they’d spoken with. More specifically, Tora had said nothing, which Akane deemed rather rude. She had a right to know these things, after all.

“You’ve met Tora?” She asked eventually, her voice laden with a sense of hope. Call it desperate, and a tad possessive, but the very concept of her brother meeting someone new to spend time with had her overcome with relief. “Properly I mean.”

“We’ve-… how to put it…”

 Whether it was sub-conscious or not, any mention of the fire performer had Daishou stumbling more times than he’d care to admit, causing Sakijima to break into a harsh smirk. Akane meanwhile hung onto his every word, longing for an answer. “You’ve what?”

“We have, to an extent.” Daishou confirmed with eyes open wide, as if something clicked in the back of his mind, then peered out into the hallway in the direction of Kuroo’s room. It was shut, as per Daishou’s expectations, and had him slip into a familiar cunning smile.

 

He had a plan, much to Hiroo and Sakijima’s dismay.

 

“Is everything alright?” Akane probed in concern when the man continued to stare down the hallway. Time was pressing on, and as reasonable as Daishou seemed, she honestly couldn’t stay for much longer. “Maybe we could talk later?”

“How about now?” Daishou snapped into action, mustering an overly kind tone that had Sakijima almost gagging in the background.

“I can’t, sorry.” Akane hung her head, “I need to sort out the glass before the others come back.”   

“Sakijima can take care of it. Consider it an apology for his behaviour towards you.”

“Like hell I will.” The man in question spat, earning a glare from both snakes. For what it was worth Akane was similarly against the idea, fumbling her fingers in thought.

“But it w-”

“But nothing, we insist.” Daishou was practically beaming as he set both hands firmly upon Akane’s shoulders, subsequently guiding her out of the room. “Now to the kitchen with you, I’ll be there in a moment.”

“Alright…?” Uncertainty plastered itself across Akane’s features but she obliged, taking a brisk walk down the corridor. Any excuse to get away would do.

 

 It was only then however, when the kitchen door clicked shut, that Daishou let his façade slip, and the trio found themselves at a standstill.

 

 “I trusted you two to look after the place.” Daishou relayed in a flat, unnerving tone. He was beyond disappointment, that much was clear, and in light of the mood Sakijima and Hiroo remained poised. They knew better than to challenge his statement, but were ready to take action, if necessary.

“I also heard you caused some trouble for the other floors.” He motioned to Sakijima next.

“Yeah, but-”

“We’re not here to cause a scene, what part of that isn't sinking in?” Daishou begun to raise his voice, “One incident I can ignore, but _two floors?_ That's ridiculous!”

Sakijima fidgeted on the spot, evidently annoyed. “If you were there you’d understand-”

“No excuses!!” Daishou pointed his index finger at Sakijima, “We came to this place to improve our circumstances. Not just for us three, but the others as well, unless you’ve forgotten them alr-”

“ _Daishou_.” Hiroo cut in to change the topic before Sakijima had an excuse to use his knife, “What do you hope to achieve by talking to that girl?”

Daishou drew to a silence, then gradually formed a smirk.

“That’s none of your concern.”

There was no time nor need for him to justify his actions, and so without another word he took his leave, relishing in Sakijima’s mumbled cursing and the fierce stomping of his boots as he ventured out to clean up the glass.

 

 

 “Sorry for the wait.” Daishou piped up as he entered the kitchen, nudging the door to, but not completely shut so that he could still keep an ear out for Sakijima. “Had to have a quick talk with the others.”

“It’s fine.” Came the droning response. A mere handful of minutes had passed at best, but in that duration Akane had transpired into a weary state, sat at the table with her head in her hands.

“… Is something wrong…?” Daishou probed, the words rolling off his tongue with an unfamiliar tang. Expressing concern was a challenge for any of the snakes, so much so that he wondered if he’d chosen the right words, the correct tone even.

“I’ve been an idiot.” She confessed via a laboured breath.

“Yes. And no.” Daishou added the last part in haste, recalling that some people rely on sympathy to function. “Well actually it depends, what’re you on about?”

“Everything.” Akane slumped further, pressing her forehead to the cool wood of the table. “… I just wanted to know what Kuroo was doing in the office, whether my brother was alright. That’s all.”

“Okay...” Daishou dragged his speech out, deliberating how to handle this slight hiccup in his plan. “How about we forget it and move on?”

“Try telling that to Kuroo.” Akane was sulking, for lack of better word, lifting her head with puffed up cheeks. “He’ll moan about our argument the first chance he gets, regardless of how well the glass is cleaned up-”

“To who?”

“Hm?” Akane blinked when Daishou moved to stand by her side, then tilted his head. There was a strange gleam in his eyes then, she noticed, something dancing along the lines of dark, yet sincere.

“Who’s he going to tell?” Daishou elaborated with a smile, “Who will believe him?”

“Sakijima-”

“Knows better than to talk about this.” Daishou assured, his smile widening further, “Trust me, we’ll keep this a secret.”

“Great, but even if you did there’s still the issue of my brother.” Akane shifted her attention elsewhere with a sigh. “No matter what I do to hide things, he figures it out. Always.”

“Because you’re both honest to a fault.” Daishou deadpanned, then shed off his coat to drape it around Akane’s shoulders. A small gesture in comfort wouldn’t hurt, he figured, though he felt a definite sense of unease when Akane whipped her head round, her eyes overblown in fascination and intrigue.

 

 There was too much in those infernal eyes, Daishou grimaced, too genuine and nice and everything that made the bile rise up his innards. People weren’t supposed to be so… whatever these siblings were.

 

“Anyway,” He muttered, retracting both hands in haste. “Don’t think about it so much. If the time comes I’ll speak with him.”

“You will?!” Akane beamed.

“Yes, yes. Whatever’s necessary.” Daishou snapped, coaxing Akane to calm herself. She’d gotten carried away with her emotions, again.

“Sorry.”

“For what now, pray tell?” Daishou droned.  

“I’m just happy. Relieved. It’s hard to describe.” She confessed with a shadow of her former smile. “You’re quite kind.”

“You’re mistaken.” Daishou scoffed, marching over to the cupboards beside the stove. Tora had gotten a pan from somewhere around there, he recalled, bending down to open one of the lower units.

 

  In the meantime Akane observed him with keen interest, pulling the coat around her for warmth. Stripped of the aforementioned garment Daishou was a lot slimmer… lanky, she mused, resembling a strange, black praying mantis as he crouched down low to search the cupboard.

Curtly put, his slender frame conveyed a sense of vulnerability, an honesty which juxtaposed the arrogant Daishou back in the spare room.

“I’m not mistaken.” She eventually answered in a gentle fashion, “And pardon me for saying, but you’re much more co-operative alon-”

“Don’t you start on that as well.” Daishou blurted, shooting a rather wobbly glare when he rose from the cupboard with a pan in hand. “Honestly, you two are something else…”

“Did my brother say something similar?” Akane giggled softly, watching Daishou turn this way and that to locate the sink. Whether he liked it or not, there certainly was a difference in his behaviour then, but it wasn’t necessarily a bad change.

“He has the same whimsical ideas, yes.” Daishou jibed, filling up the pan then setting it on the stove with a mighty clunk. “If you ask me I’d say you’re both far too optimistic for your own good. Perhaps you should let Sakijima rattle some fear into you every now and then, make a few death threats… its character building.”

“That won’t be necessary.” Akane’s cheeriness clattered to the floor abruptly, akin to the glass being swept in the hallway. “We are who we are because of such tests.”

“Is that so…?” Daishou glimpsed over his shoulder at the girl, genuinely curious, but Akane’s lips were sealed. Such talk was vastly premature.

“Very well.” He surrendered in due course, plucking two mugs from the cupboards on the wall. “You drink coffee, I presume?”

“You’re making me some?” Akane asked in turn, alarmed yet again by Daishou’s generosity.

“I was making myself some, actually.” He informed bluntly, “But you look like you need one, so the offer’s there.”

“Huh…” Akane nodded, and her lips tweaked into the beginnings of a familiar, warm smile. “Thank you.”

“Don’t misunderstand. I’ve filled the pan with too much water, that’s all.” Daishou rolled his eyes once more.

“But even so, that’s-”

“Yes, yes, I’m the epitome of human kindness. I think we get the point.” Daishou mocked, “Now can I get on with this?”

“Of course, sorry.” Akane chuckled, not sorry in the slightest.

 

 

“Excuse me, sir?”

 Mustering all of his composure Yamiji inhaled deep through his nose, and walked on. The call was not directed at him, thankfully, but even so he felt compelled to maintain his pace, and pray that the persistent nagging would be answered in good time.

  It had begun in the depths of the Maze, to be precise, where the streets were ripe with the scent of piss and ale, and prostitutes lurked down every suspicious alleyway, beckoning the drunk and the ignorant with a wave of their talons. Back in the safety of the Roost Futakuchi had ridiculed the Maze to no end, calling the smell a breadcrumb trail to the cess pit of society, and with all due respect he wasn’t wrong.

  One turn later and Yamiji had inadvertently lead his newfound students to a pub on the street corner. Not that a pub was a problem, but in this particular case it made itself acquainted with the worst Vol had to offer, apparently. No sooner did the locals spot the well-dressed Owls did they begin to sneer with toothless smiles, nudge one another and burst into hoarse laughter that sent their drinks flying this way and that.

_The fuck do they think they are?!_

_Gonna’ get stabbed lookin’ like that-_

 Yamiji paid them no mind, but the same could not be said for his company. Their disguises were effective, a fact made known when some of the residents attempted to save Komi and Akaashi from Yamiji’s grasp, but unfortunately it also granted Konoha a weird sense of pride, a case of one-upmanship if you will. He revelled in the taunts and went as far as to tip his hat in thanks, thus providing the push Komi needed to rid himself of his boredom.

  Harassing Konoha was a blessed pastime, after all, and nothing pleased Komi better than to play on his assigned role and hover about the smug prick like a fly to rotting meat.

 

“Sir, just one question!”

 

“ _What?”_ Konoha hissed at last, thankful when the gentle, welcoming light of the main streets came into sight. “What could you possibly want, you insufferable, soot covered demon?”   

“Just wondered about your chimney.” Komi snickered, a definite bounce to his step as he kept up with Konoha’s stride. “It’s being kept in order, I hope?”

“But I don’t-”

 _“Don’t answer him.”_ Akaashi warned, disgust plastered across his features. Regardless it came a split second too late, and all the group could do was echo his dismay when Konoha finally caught on.

“Oh.” He began, then scrunched his nose. “Oh, you vile creature. As if I’d let you _anywhere_ near me-”

“Don’t flatter yourself. I only service the best.” Komi declared, laying his crudeness on thick as he shot a wink back to a miffed Sarukui. The whole ‘ban from speaking’ concept was frustrating enough without Komi’s commentary, but he settled in expressing his annoyance with the furrowing of his brows, and his shoulders which bunched up tight.   

“Aw c’mon now.” Komi sighed, falling back to return to Sarukui’s side. “Don’t you get grumpy with me, it was a joke.”

Sarukui let his shoulders drop, and Konoha cast him a pitying glance.

“Leave him alone already. Your talk about his clothing was bad enough.”

“Hey, that was different!” Komi argued, rolling his eyes when Sarukui sent him a glare. “I just thought it’d be fun if one of us dressed as a girl or something. Anyone could’ve done it-”

“You wanted ‘im to dress as a prostitute.” Washio clarified.

“Nah I specifically said _like_ one, just for him to y’know… ugh-” Komi slapped a hand to Konoha’s shoulder, “Back me up here. You ever wanted Wa- I mean, your man to do a bit of dress up? Put on something unexpected?”

“ _What?!”_

“Kuroo and I found some corsets and stuff down in the storage room back home,” Bokuto offered unhelpfully, rewarded with a glare from Akaashi. “Maybe you should take a loo-”

_“Must we have this conversation in public?”_

Yamiji’s voice rung clear overhead, coaxing the huddle to silence. He was wary of their surroundings now that they had finally escaped the Maze, reaching in his coat pocket to produce his notebook shortly after. “At any rate, look sharp. Our first stop’s up ahead.”

“First stop?” Onaga asked on behalf of the group, tilting his head. “We aren’t going straight to the factory?”

“No.” The elder informed calmly, managing to keep a steady walk and scan the notebook with ease. They were approaching a bridge next, one of several which connected the various districts of Vol. “It’s a nice day, I thought we should make the most of it.”

 

 No one saw the need to complain, wordlessly following their leader across the bridge, and towards the next set of streets. The air was fresh compared the centre of the Maze, and its inhabitants seemed to possess more teeth than the dregs back at the pub, but still they conveyed a certain level of discrimination towards the group as they walked on through.

“They don’t seem keen on foreigners.” Bokuto observed, scanning the various shops signs in fascination.

“I wouldn’t say that.” Yamiji reasoned, “I’m sure they’re simply curious as to what we’re saying.”

“Good point.”

“That reminds me,” The elder looked over his shoulder momentarily whilst snapping his notebook shut, “You’ve lived over here for a while now, haven’t you? You must have a good grasp of the language.”

“I guess.” Bokuto grinned sheepishly, unsure what to do with the praise and the pride bubbling up inside. “S’not perfect but I’m alright-”

“Well at least you can speak it.” Akaashi interjected with clear envy, “I can’t.”

Bokuto’s eyes grew wide. “But your books?”

“Reading a language is much simpler than speaking it, or listening to it for that matter.”

“I agree.” Washio mumbled from behind the pair, “The people here speak too fast. It’s difficult to understand.”

“That’s why I prefer to ignore ‘em.” Komi chipped in, “And I’m not one for reading, so-”

“Hence you have very little grasp of anything here, and act purely on instinct.” Konoha quipped, smirking over his shoulder for a second, “Thankfully the remainder of us are fluent, hm?”

“How fortunate indeed.” Yamiji concluded, slowing his pace as the noise in the streets began to pick up, and they approached a large, open square. It was a marketplace, and a rather substantial one at that, filled to the brim with stalls of fabrics, meats, antiques and voices overlapping one another amidst the buzz. Compared to the Maze the people here were much busier, pushing past one another and yelling across the stands, too busy in fact to acknowledge of a group of Easterners as they slipped in through the masses, and came to a halt in the very centre.

“Here we are, first stop.” The elder announced, encouraging the huddle to keep close all the while. “We’ll stay here a while to grab some food and look around. Sound good?”

The responses were a mixture of stares, shuffling, and very little talking until Akaashi stepped up to reply. “Is this the best idea?”

“It’s not the worst.” Yamiji stated, then reached into another coat pocket to locate his money. “Once you leave the Roost and move into our home, Ukai will expect you to go out on occasion, so consider this an introduction back into the world.”

“But-”

“Here.” The elder refused to take any further objections, handing a bundle of notes to Washio before tucking the remainder back into the safety of his pocket. “You’ll be in charge of your group. Keep an eye on the clock tower to the north of the marketplace, and be back here on the hour.”

“Of course.” Washio gave a humble nod, then put the money away with a great deal of care. With that settled Yamiji then motioned to Onaga, Bokuto and Akaashi, who had since gathered into a small group as if prepared for the elder’s announcement. “Shall we?”

“Yeah!” Bokuto’s voice swallowed up any comment Onaga and Akaashi intended to make, after which he followed the trio to the western side of the marketplace. His lively shouts were still prominent even as they disappeared out of sight, leaving Konoha, Washio, Sarukui and a bewildered Komi behind.

 

“Oi, where the hell are they off to?”

 Sarukui could only shrug. Albeit unhelpful, it was much more informative than Washio, who had since taken to admiring the surroundings, particularly the eastern stalls.

  Komi admitted defeat with a roll of his eyes, then turned to his final, absolute last resort. He expected Konoha to be overcome with glee by his ignorance; smug faced, arms folded and perhaps humming in an arrogant fashion, but the man proved him wrong, and instead looked upon Komi as if he’d stepped in something unpleasant.

“Neither of you were paying attention back in the corridor, were you…?”

 

 

 Onaga spared the group left behind a sympathetic glance. Being blessed with height he could see them still, even Komi every now and then, and he couldn’t help but question whether Yamiji had thought his plan through.

“Do you think they’ll be alright?” He asked softly to no one in particular.

“We can only hope.” Akaashi laughed, much to Onaga’s surprise. Recognition was one thing, but a smiling Akaashi was another entirely, especially when he shooed Bokuto away to grant his undivided attention. “There’s some sensible heads in that group, so I wouldn’t worry.”

“I know.” Onaga hadn’t doubted that in the slightest, “But still, I-”

“Would you rather be with them? I don’t mind, if that’s what you’d prefer.” Akaashi interrupted, “I’m going to have to make sure a certain someone keeps out of trouble anyway, so don’t feel pressured to stay.”

“No, no, I…!” Onaga quickly pursed his lips before he embarrassed himself, considering the option in full. Bokuto and Akaashi were good people, good company even, but not his go-to choice for conversation. That said, Onaga was a permanent resident of the comfort zone, preferring to watch from a distance than get involved, and it was high time he moved out.

“I’ll stay here.” He said boldly, proud of his decision.

“Very well.” Akaashi flashed another genuine smile, then caught a glimpse of Bokuto. He was over at a vegetable stand with Yamiji, and had met Akaashi’s stare long enough to burst into an elated grin.

_“Aha!”_

Akaashi sighed, raring himself to catch the running lunatic if necessary. “Here we go-”

“Onaga!” Bokuto exclaimed out of the blue, ignoring Akaashi entirely to give Onaga a zealous slap to his back. “You’re hanging out with us right? Right?”

“ _Ssh!!_ ” Akaashi hissed frantically, “No using our real names, remember?!”

“Oh.” Yes, Bokuto vaguely recalled such a warning. “Right, well anyway I was gonna’ say something…”

“I’m sorry.” Akaashi spoke in earnest, pity in his eyes when he turned to Onaga, “Really, I wouldn’t blame you for going to join the others. There’s still time.”

“I’m alright here.” Onaga pressed with a firm nod of his head, trying to convince himself more than anything. “Did you find anything good at the stand?”

“I sure did!” Bokuto raised a fist in victory, then clutched Onaga’s wrist with his free hand. “Did I ever tell you about Botato?”

“ _Botato?”_

“No one needs to know about that.” Akaashi droned, snaking through the crowd after Bokuto and Onaga. “It’s a stupid story. Childish, boring, don’t let him do this to you honestly-”

Bokuto came to an abrupt stop before the array of vegetables, releasing Onaga’s wrist once certain the poor soul wouldn’t flee. “It’s a great story. Us two were in the kitchen that day, when we were being punished by Sugawara. I think you were at the port then? Yeah...”

Akaashi wasn’t sure how much of this he could endure, coming to Onaga’s aid. “We were peeling potatoes, preparing food for when the Plants group return-”

“That’s right!” Bokuto cut in, “The Plants were coming back that day so we were getting stuff ready, and then I had this great plan. I got a bit inspired with the names-”

“I believe I called you a potato in the office. Therefore it was _my_ idea.”

Onaga bit on his lower lip to stifle a laugh. Akaashi, the unmoving, straight laced owl was determined to claim credit for the potato joke, scowling when Bokuto poked his tongue out then sniggered.

“You’re the weird person who claims that a tomato’s a fruit!”

“It is one.” Onaga blurted, stopping Bokuto in his tracks. Not for long of course, but enough time for their eardrums to recover.

“… See, Suga said the same.” Bokuto muttered, rubbing his chin with a hand. “And if you also say it’s true, then it’s gotta be.”

“To which you’re implying my opinion doesn’t count?” Akaashi snapped.

“No! See look, now you’re getting too wound up!”

“Am not!!”

“Let me tell the story my way-!”

 

 Onaga wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the story. In fact if anybody had taken the time to ask what _he_ wanted, he’d say that a bit of food would be nice right then, maybe a sit down in the park… It would be even better if it overlooked the river, or at least had a lot of sunlight, but Onaga knew better than to make such selfish demands.

 

 “You’re supposed to be my partner!!” Bokuto’s voice shot straight through Onaga’s thoughts, making him wince. Akaashi similarly pulled back with a grimace, then briskly turned his head to check for any spectators.

“You’re not supposed to yell things like that in public, don’t you remember how society works?!”

“No one understands a word we’re saying!”

 _Not entirely true._ Onaga remarked in his head, smiling when Yamiji looked their way, then shook his head with a sigh. Presumably he had no concerns about anybody overhearing them, and planned to stay ignorant to Bokuto and Akaashi’s quarrel.

“You’ve completely deviated from the topic.” Akaashi announced with folded arms. “Carry on with your story.”

Bokuto’s cheeks inflated, then quickly sank before his retort. “But you didn’t want me to tell it.”

“Well now I’m giving you the chance. Be my guest.” Akaashi motioned to the plethora of potatoes displayed on the stall before them. The stall owner in question, a large man with even larger sideburns and moustache grown into one, didn’t take kindly to the bickering currently putting off his customers. “We had a ton of potatoes like this, remember?”

“Oi, oi, now you’re telling the story.”

“I’m-!” Akaashi looked exasperated, his eyes rolling in their sockets, “Just hurry up and explain the joke, or so help me we’re leaving.”

“Fine, we’ll leave!” Bokuto puffed up his chest, dangerously close to the beginnings of one of his slumps. “We’ll go and I’m not gonna’ tell it next time you ask.”

“I didn’t ask, you’re the one who-”

_“Just tell it!”_

 

 With that outburst Bokuto, Akaashi and Yamiji froze, and the owner too seemed alarmed by the turn of events. Onaga hadn’t snapped per se, not compared to the likes of Konoha (or Washio when he was pushed enough), but he was certainly frustrated by the madness of their arguing, standing between them with tightly clenched fists and swiftly reddening cheeks.

“I-I um. I mean…” His shoulders sagged and his sheepish ways returned fast, unbefitting of his tall stature. “I… just. The man’s trying to run a business here.” Onaga pointed to the stall owner, then put his hands in his pockets. “We should talk elsewhere.”

“Of course.” Akaashi adopted a calm, velvety tone in reassurance. “Sorry.”

“Yeah, we’re sorry!” Bokuto apologised with the western tongue for the owner’s sake. Suffice to say however, the man hadn’t foreseen that this strange haired foreigner would speak his language.

“Yer what…?”

“I said we’re sorry!” Bokuto yelled unnecessarily, assuming that it would give his words some clarity. To emphasise his point he gave a passionate bow, swinging forward so fast that he smacked his head into the front-most crate with a horrific bang, and sent its contents flying.  

  Potatoes tumbled in every direction, getting kicked or mashed into the grimy cobblestones by the passing crowd. Rather than attempt to save the vegetables Akaashi hung his head in embarrassment, whilst Onaga took a moment to wonder how a single man could cause so much trouble. Nevertheless Bokuto managed, and Yamiji moved in to save the trio at last, grasping a bundle of notes in preparation for however much Bokuto had just cost him.

 

 


	24. Cedar

  Konoha jabbed the toe of his shoe into a small, brown pulp with disdain. Thanks to the moving crowds potatoes had been scattered about the marketplace like ash, and the majority of those people now hung about the nearby vegetable stall like a bad stench. No one cared to help the owner retrieve his goods, but they would gladly take some gossip for the road, a shallow notion which had Konoha’s stomach reeling in shame.

  Albeit unable to decipher the rabble of noise, Washio felt himself slip into a similar state of unease. Such behaviour was akin to the Roost’s larger, livelier groups, who took each scrap of information like a damp cloth, and would ring it dry until they grew bored, before moving on to the next exciting thing.

“I fail to see what’s so interesting.” Washio uttered at last, eyeing the gathering with a discerning gaze.

“You and me both.” Konoha agreed, bending to wipe his shoe with a handkerchief. “D’you hear that yelling though?”

“It’s coming from the stall owner, I believe.”

“Right. He’s talking about our people.” Konoha rose once his shoe was clean, tucking the cloth into his coat pocket. “Says we’re the scum of the East. That we’re here to dirty his country, and run his business into the ground.”

“How extreme.” Washio stated bluntly, turning his attention away from the crowd. “Though whilst we’re on the topic of yelling…”

“Don’t bring that up again, it’s not so strange.”

“Is too.” Washio pressed, lowering his voice with caution, “I thought you were going to rip Komi and Saru apart for their carelessness earlier, when all of a sudden you changed your mind and left them be… Why?”

“I was disappointed, that’s all.” Came the weary response, “Given how important today is, I thought they might behave, and pay attention for once.”

“Yamiji went on much longer than necessary, I don’t blame them for getting bored.”

“You never do.” Konoha rebuked, turning to jab a finger to Washio’s chest. “You’re too soft on them. If they killed a man you’d help hide the body.”

“I think they’d manage just fine on their own.”

 Konoha shook that grim truth aside fast, and marched on. Thanks to the incident at the vegetable stall their side of the marketplace was relatively clear, allowing Washio to follow Konoha with ease. Sarukui and Komi had been with them a short while prior, but in time Komi’s complaints about the group arrangements became intolerable, and Konoha sent them off to explore provided they didn’t leave the area altogether.

 

“Oh, look!” Konoha’s mood lifted like a pleasant breeze, and he beckoned Washio to a stall of fabrics with an eager wave of his hand. “They’ve got so many choices!”

“So I see.” Washio stated, glancing at the two girls operating the shop. They were young, too young perhaps to be left alone with a business, and practically joined at the hip as they whispered and giggled before looking their way.

“You’re not paying attention.” A hand slapped Washio’s arm, then pointed to a navy coloured cotton. Or maybe it was wool, Washio hadn’t the faintest clue. “What d’you think of this?”

“It’s blue.”

“Thank you, genius.” Konoha retorted, getting a feel of the fabric with his thumb and forefinger. “Anything else?”

“I guess it’s nice.”

“ _Nice?_ ” Konoha repeated, setting his hand on his hip, “Do you have any idea how hard it is to find suitable fabrics for our costumes? Not to mention the colour palette, I have to co-ordinate it with _seven_ people!”

“I think our black and gold theme is very refined.” Washio spoke in earnest, pleased when Konoha’s brow softened in tune to a genuine, kind smile.

“Well it beats the Crows’ stage colours, that’s for sure.” He replied, “There’s green, red, pink… and have you seen that orange they’ve thrown in now? It’s awful. I can’t tell what look they’re going for half the time.”

“Mm.”

Washio pursed his lips. Konoha had a point, but it wasn’t their place to judge.

“You know what, I feel sorry for the people who have to make those outfits.” Konoha continued after some thought, “There’s so many, and they’re not even well designed.”

“Could be worse.” Washio enlightened, “They could be excellent seamstresses, who find themselves constantly hounded by a man incapable of sticking to one design.”

“Yukie and Kaori adore me.”

“Yukie threw a chair at you the other day.” Washio’s face pulled taut in disapproval, wondering how Konoha had drawn such a conclusion. “The week before she tried to cut your hair in your sleep.”

“It’s harmless fun.” Konoha dismissed him with a laugh, pacing along to examine some more materials. “And besides I get my own back. Tell her things are wrong when they’re not-”

“That’s cruel.”

“It’s _fun._ ”

Washio shook his head in dismay, trailing after Konoha. Torment was not synonymous with entertainment, and the sooner the other ended his wicked habit, the better.

 

“Aha, see here!”

“Mm?”

 On cue Washio paused beside Konoha and stooped his head, watching as he pulled out a stretch of black fabric, then made it ripple in his hand. There was another thread in the weave, he noticed, something metallic which shone a warm, brilliant gold when it caught the sunlight.

“It’s kinda’ like the embellishment we’ve used.” Konoha muttered, mildly impressed. “Probably a bit too heavy to be used as the main fabric though. Imagine how much we’d blind the audience under the spotlight.”  

“Then use it on specific panels.” Washio suggested. Constructing clothes wasn’t his speciality, but he had heard Konoha ramble about tucks and panels and seam lines often enough to get a vague idea. “Though I should remind you that after this show, we won’t be performing for a long time-”

“I know, I know. Perhaps we never will.” Konoha droned, and he waved a hand back and forth in surrender. “But I’ve been doing this sort of things for years… back in the old theatre, and now The Roost. It’s a hobby of mine.”

“Could be a career.”

“Yeah, could be.” Konoha broke into a fond smile, appreciating Washio’s optimism. “Say… d’you think we could buy a tiny bit of this fabric? Just a few centimetres or so… not so much that Yamiji will notice we’re spending his money on other things-”

“I’d say yes, but…” Washio began to fidget on instinct, shoving both hands in his coat pocket.

“But what? C’mon I’m sure he won’t care either way.” Konoha grinned, taking a step closer. “Now gimme’ the money.”

“I can’t.”

“Why not?”

“Because I don’t have it.”

Konoha blinked, eyelids fluttering fast in disbelief as the colour trickled from his face. “Come again…?”

“You told me to give the money to the others.”

“ _No!!_ ” Konoha screeched, alarming the girls nearby, “I told you to give them _half-!_ ”

“Did not.” Washio corrected. “You strictly asked me to hand them the money so they could buy us lunch.”

“ _Their own lunch._ ”

“You should have specified-”

“No, _you-!_ ” Konoha raised an index finger first, lost for words. “Never mind, forget it. There’s no changing things now… But if they’ve spent all that money on alcohol or scrap metal I’m holding you personally responsible, understand?”

No, Washio didn’t, but he took it in his stride with a humble nod, and silently prayed for the best.

 

 

  Elsewhere, a giddy Komi was busy flicking through the wad of notes, overcome with excitement. The very possibility that Konoha trusted them with their money was nothing short of ludicrous, and whilst Komi felt half inclined to question his motives he let it slide, grateful for the opportunity.

  Sarukui, on the other hand, couldn’t care either way, and had taken to admiring the scrolling skies to occupy himself. The past half hour or so away from the Roost had been a challenge, simply put, and it amazed him how often his body language could be utterly misinterpreted. In a bid to communicate more effectively he had tried to accompany some actions with sounds, but Washio and Konoha quickly shut that behaviour down in a state of panic. They thought it better he stay silent and misunderstood, than potentially exposed.

  Sarukui thought it was a steaming pile of nonsense, but that was neither here nor there. Granted, he could understand the Western language perfectly fine, but if he couldn’t speak he was no more useful than the potatoes mushed into the cobblestones, and was better off finding a bench to sleep on until the other owls returned.

“I know you’re pissed about this.” Komi exhaled, bringing the notes into a neat bundle before returning them into his pocket. “It’s kinda shit for me too to be honest. Thought we could have some fun with the no talking thing, but it’s been about as successful as all my other plans…”

 Sarukui entertained that thought with a smile, his eyes curving up into a squint. Komi’s ideas were truly horrible; poorly constructed, executed and generally lacking tact. In contrast spontaneity fit the man like a well cut suit, and he was much better going on impulse, than wasting his time on another futile scheme.

“We could use this to our advantage though…”

That said, whatever Komi lacked in his organisation skills, he made up for in determination, and no hitch in his plans could throw him off balance.

“You watch this. I’ll get us a great deal on lunch.” Komi’s grin became a smirk, and he hauled Sarukui along by his sleeve towards a meat pie stall, manned by a plump husband and wife in their late thirties. In light of their welcoming stance Komi’s devilish smile receded fast, and he met their gentle gazes with nothing short of exaggerated sorrow.

 

“I need four of those.” He began, pointing to the pies.

The husband cocked his head, then looked to his wife.

“Four.” Komi repeated, maintaining the Eastern tongue as he waved four fingers up, before quickly changing it to five, then three. “Shit no. I dunno’…”

 The act continued for a good half a minute, with Komi becoming progressively frustrated as he went. For sympathetic value he attempted to speak some of the Western tongue, but then hastily returned to his own so as to baffle the owners entirely. Even when they looked to Sarukui for help he intervened, firmly shaking his head and forming an x with his hands.

 

  For what it was worth, Komi’s plan to play the ignorant Easterner wasn’t bad, but it was humiliating nonetheless. Furthermore, the hour would be up long before Komi could get to the crux of the matter, and Sarukui had no intention of missing out on lunch.

“… Oi, what’re you doing?” Komi arched a brow, watching Sarukui when he fumbled in his pocket, then produced a slip of paper. Without so much as a fleeting glance he then passed it to the husband to read, observing the man’s face as it shifted from confusion, to blatant compassion.

 

“Well shit,” He muttered above a whisper, waving his wife over, “No wonder we’re havin’ trouble, the poor bastard can’t speak.”

“What?”

“Born that way. The little one here can’t understand a word we’re saying, but he can.”

“And yet he can’t talk to us? That’s awful…!”

 

 Komi cursed his slim grasp of the Western language, shooting Sarukui a glare. He didn’t care to know what the owners were saying, but when they looked upon him as if he were an abandoned kitten, he couldn’t deny that paper had him curious.

  Sarukui meanwhile played his role to perfection. Unlike his partner, and much unlike Konoha had suspected, Sarukui had at least anticipated that they might split up during the day, and written a note in advance to save them from potential embarrassment.

“I dunno what to say…” The man eventually uttered, passed the note back, and ran a hand through his great bristly beard. “That’s terrible luck, I’m sorry. Can’t imagine how you two have survived so long as you are.”

Sarukui could do little but shrug, as if he had always wondered the same.

“… Alright. You wanted four, didn’t ya’?” The owner settled, signalling for his wife to wrap up the food, “Pay us for three, and we’ll throw a couple more pies in. Weather’s gonna’ turn crap later and I’d rather you and your little brother didn’t starve.”

 Sarukui promptly disguised his humour by bowing in thanks, clenching both fists tight by his sides. Shortly after he began to tremble, and the tips of his ears burned red as he desperately stifled his laughter, but Komi put it down to the chill in the air, and made note to steal that piece of paper later on.

 

 

  As the afternoon rolled by, Iwaizumi could proudly claim that he was making progress. Ukai hadn’t requested his presence after lunch, meaning he could work from the comfort of his room for the remainder of the day. There he could be free of the detective’s demands, and take the time to admire the drifting clouds beyond his window every now and then.

  There, he would not be harassed by Sugawara or Daichi, nor Matsukawa or Hanamaki, who had strangely taken to shutting themselves in their room since the early afternoon. That in itself was suspicious, but their problems were none of his business.

“Hajime, are you in there…?”

 Iwaizumi’s forehead creased, and he set his pencil down. When he didn’t voice a reply a set of knuckles gingerly rapped upon the door next, until he turned to it with a glare.

“You don’t need to knock to come into your own room.”

“Sorry.” Oikawa’s voice had withered, and he opened the door enough to poke his head through. “Are you busy?”

“As always.”

“Right.” Oikawa rolled his eyes, silently scolding himself for asking such a daft question. “Look, I’ve got company, mind if we come in?”

“If it’s anybody whose name begins with H or M, they can go away. I can’t afford the distraction.”

“Then how about a T?”

“A T…?”

 Iwaizumi cocked his head, about to question Oikawa’s game when he stepped inside, Tora following right behind. At the mere sight of Tora’s downtrodden expression any irritation swiftly disappeared, replaced with a fierce determination.

“You… have you only just left the office?”

“Yeah.” Tora rubbed and pulled at the back of his neck, mustering a faint smile. “I was on my way to the Dome, but Tooru found me-”

“Please let him stay.” Oikawa pleaded, tugging Tora away from the door for good measure. “We won’t be loud, promise-”

“You know he’s always welcome here.” Iwaizumi pressed and rose from his chair without delay. “Take a seat.”

“Thank you,” Tora began, swallowing a lump down his throat, “but you look busy, and I should probably get to pr-”  

_“Sit.”_

Iwaizumi pointed to the bed, permitting Tora a few seconds to move before he dragged the man there himself. “I can only imagine with a shit day you’ve had. Take a break.”

“Yes.” Tora blurted, quickly planting his arse on the bed. Oikawa joined him without hesitation, eyeing his partner as he paced about the room, then dove into their alcohol cupboard.

“You told me it’s too early for that.” Oikawa huffed.

“I know.” Iwaizumi’s head popped out from behind the door briefly, “But given the circumstances I think I can bend the rules. He needs it.”

“I don’t.” Tora protested, “Really. You don’t have to go to such trouble-”

“Oh be quiet.” Iwaizumi produced a lengthy sigh from somewhere in the cupboard, causing Oikawa to snort behind his hand.

“Let him have his way.” Oikawa whispered, sitting up straight once Iwaizumi resurfaced from the unit with three bottles to hand. His face was the perfect picture of resolve as he shoved the bottles into Oikawa’s lap, then snatched his chair from the other end of the room, and only once he returned did Oikawa hand out the beers, eyes downcast as they fell to silence.

 

“Do you want to talk?” Iwaizumi eventually croaked out, uncorking his beer with a hollow pop. “The last thing we want is to upset you, but if we can somehow be of help…”  

Tora gave a firm nod, traces of his smile coming to light. “It’d make a change. S’not everyday someone wants to hear me complaining.”

“You should demand it more often. Make people listen to you.”

“I guess.” Tora opened his beer, then took a sip to cloak his displeasure. That was the second time he’d received such advice in one day, and he did not plan to resume the same predictable conversation. “Anyway, you two are doing good, I hope?”

“ _Taketora-_ ”

“We’re fine.” Oikawa answered on their behalf, emphasising his words with a brilliant smile.

 

  With all due respect, ‘fine’ was a strange way of putting it, Tora mused, lowering the bottle from his lips. Were he not so familiar with the couple he’d have suggested otherwise, what with all their shouting first thing in the morning over trivial things... but nevertheless, they were what they were, and so as long as they were happy, nothing else mattered.

  Even then, he observed when the group came to another hush, Oikawa and Iwaizumi were challenging one another with no more than a slight gesture of their brows, yet there was no malice or threat to their ways. In fact it was almost childish, entertaining, yet sincere all rolled into one. No doubt they’d switch to glaring soon, then scowling- and growling in Iwaizumi’s case- before resorting to ridiculous taunts, and as much as it pained him to confess, Tora sort of envied their relationship.  

  To share such an immense trust, such blatant honesty… that was a rare trait for any relationship, romantic or not. Nonetheless, Tora aspired to find a slice of that peace for himself, and with that thought in mind he recalled his sister’s advice.

  Optimistic to no end, Akane believed that there was a person for everybody, whether you sought friendship or love. Therefore assuming she was correct, like always, then Tora too would someday meet an individual capable of accepting him in his entirety. Or most of him, he wasn’t too fussed.

  On that note, Tora’s lips curled into a stupid grin. Such dreams and ideals were more becoming of Tanaka and Nishinoya than himself, but regardless they were pleasant, and in that moment, dare he say it, they were beginning to feel quite real.

  Yes, hypothetically speaking, that someone might exist, but even if he found them... what would he do? Tora wasn’t the romantic sort, far from it, so strolls about the city gardens, and afternoons in quaint little tea houses were out of the question. To be frank he’d rather be lounging about a bar, hell even the kitchen would do, provided he had good company, and the freedom to speak his mind.

_“The offer’s there.”_

 Upon hearing that sly, forsaken tone, Tora shook his head, for any thought of the kitchen brought Daishou to mind faster than he cared to admit.

 

 That smirk, that laugh, and the crease of his eyes when they narrowed with his smile... Tora should have thought it insufferable, and by all means it was close, but a nagging pull in his conscious couldn’t bring him to hate the man as much as he should.

He gave Tora that freedom after all. From the taunts, to the laughs, and even the stupid gestures that he admired in Oikawa and Iwaizumi... he gave them all. But even so, that meant nothing, surely?  

At the very least Tora prayed that was the case, and took a generous swig of his beer.

 

“Oi… you with us?”

 

With an abrupt jerk Tora snapped from his thoughts, taken aback by Oikawa and Iwaizumi’s identical, gawking expressions. “Oh, sorry. Drifted off.”

“You’re not sick, are you?” Iwaizumi probed, greatly concerned. “Perhaps you should have one of our guys look at you before you go.”

“Nah it’s fine-”

“You’re not his mother.” Oikawa scoffed, then pushed the conversation on before Iwaizumi could retort. “Anyway, we were talking about those newcomers. I heard they’re staying with you lot upstairs.”

“That is the case.” Tora confessed.

“We met the blond guy this morning, Sakishima, was it?”

“Sakijima.”

“Right, that. He sounded like a real piece of work, didn’t he Hajime?”

“We met briefly. That was enough.”

 

 Iwaizumi’s face spoke volumes, and Tora half hoped his own encounters with the snake would remain short. Nevertheless Sakijima had taken a regrettable interest in him, or at least in provoking him, and Tora doubted that habit would die anytime soon.

“What are the others like?” Oikawa asked eagerly, ignorant to Iwaizumi’s criticising gaze. Tora hadn’t been brought to their room to discuss the snakes, that was for certain, but given the pleasant mood Iwaizumi hadn’t the heart to ruin their fun either. “Are they the same?”

“No. Far from it.” Tora’s face contorted in a weird mixture of pain and relief when he spoke. By all means he was thrilled to not have three Sakijimas living on his floor, but it wasn’t to say that the other were any easier to stomach. “There’s a dark haired guy, Hiroo. He’s really quiet. Doesn’t seem interested in anything.”

“… That sounds rather odd, for a performer.” Iwaizumi remarked, “But then I guess contortionists aren’t expected to smile during their wor-”

“What about the last one? The guy with the nice coat?” Oikawa perched on the very edge of the bed, brimming with excitement. “Konoha and I were talking about him earlier on, I thought he looked great.”

“A great big idiot.” Iwaizumi deadpanned, smiling when Tora snorted into his bottle as a result. “I hope his personality is better than his dress sense.”

“How rude!”

“He’s alright.” Tora shrugged, desperate to close the conversation when something caught his attention, and he cast Oikawa a wary glance.

“Wait, you spoke with Konoha today?”

“… Maybe.” Oikawa became strangely hesitant in that instant, shuffling on the spot and fumbling with the bottle in his hands. “Why, is it important?”

“You held the Owls up because of it. I’d say that’s important.” Iwaizumi interrupted, casting Oikawa a cautious stare. In the glow of the midday sun Tora could trace over his features with ease, and noted the unfamiliar pull of his skin as he frowned not in anger, but in knowing. There was a point to his intervention, much as there was a point to the clouds, the winds, the very bricks surrounding them, but as for what that precise meaning was… Tora had yet to understand.

“Well, it doesn’t matter. They’ve left now.” Iwaizumi clapped a palm to his knee, then shifted his attention to Tora. “You said you were headed to the Dome, correct?”

“That’s right. My group’s practice session should be over by now, but I want to see how the other acts are doing.”

“Sounds like a nice way to spend the afternoon.” Iwaizumi smiled, somewhat envious. “I suspect you’ll be meeting your sister there as well?”

 

 For an eerie second Tora said nothing, before gritting his teeth and slapping a palm to his forehead. “What an idiot!”

“He can be.” Oikawa snickered, dodging the wild swing of Iwaizumi’s arm with fluid motion. “What of it?”

“I meant me!”

“Oh.” Oikawa blinked, then shrugged. “I don’t understand.”

“Let me guess.” Iwaizumi interrupted, taking pity on Tora, “You were supposed to meet her, and forgot? That’s not hard, assuming this idiot dragged you away the moment you left the office-”

“I gotta’ go.” Tora declared, then shoved his bottle into Oikawa’s grasp as he stood up. “Last thing I need is her frosty stare and a lecture on responsibility.”

“There, there.” Iwaizumi burst into a warm laugh, and likewise rose to his feet to offer a reassuring clap to his back. “I’m sure she’ll understand.”

“I’m not getting my hopes up.” Tora stressed, quickly wandering to the door. “Thanks for letting me stay though, I appreciate it.”

“We got it. Now go before your get your arse kicked!” Oikawa jibed, waving him off with both hands.

 

  Needless to say Oikawa made a valid point, encouraging Tora to break into a run. A blur of colour and a shout flew by Tora during his pursuit, but he paid it no mind and travelled on towards the Cat’s floor, bounding up the stairs two at a time for good measure. Akane would be in kitchen, that much was certain, and with some pride he slapped his palm to the door and hurtled on through.

 

_“Akane!”_

“Not here, you idiot!!” A voice yelped. “The hell are you running about for?!”

“Sorry.” Tora was quick to apologise when came to a stop, his broad chest heaving whilst the room slowly swirled into focus. At the far end of the table Yaku stood with wild eyes, as if struggling to catch his own breath, and beside him sat Alisa, hidden by a drape of light hair as her head hung forward, refusing to acknowledge their new arrival.

“I… I thought maybe she was here.” Tora clarified with consecutive steady breaths, hoping to stifle his adrenaline. “Said I’d see her after I was done in the Hall.”

“Of course.” Yaku mumbled. Quickly then he managed a smile, and gently set a hand upon Alisa’s shoulder. “I’m the one who should apologise for snapping, you kinda’ caught us by surprise, charging in like that.”

“Right, right.”

 Tora sought to make the conversation quick, given Alisa’s beaten posture. Whatever had happened… whatever _was_ happening between the pair was none of his concern, nor was it the time to pry. “I don’t suppose you’d know where she’s gone?”

“Out, I believe. Sugawara came up not too long ago asking for assistance in buying supplies. If you leave now you might catch up-”

“Nah, it’s alright. She’s in safe hands.” Tora revelled in that knowledge, and let his shoulders relax. “I’ll head to the Dome. If you see her before I do, let her know where I am.”

“… Sure.”

 Yaku took a pensive breath, and replied when Tora’s back was turned. Much unlike the flurry of emotion that had burst into the room, Tora left like a gentle whisper. His footsteps down the stairs were steady, patting to a calm, collected pace before silencing altogether, at which point Yaku readied himself to close the door.

 “Leave it.”

  Yaku glanced over his shoulder mid step. Alisa had raised her head at last, serene as she sat with both hands settled neatly in her lap. “Come back, please.”

“But wouldn’t you rather we had some privacy…?”

“We’re alright.” Alisa objected with a low hum. “We have no enemies here.”

“If only that were true.” Yaku mused, pulling out a chair as he returned to her side without delay. “If anybody else had come in just then, well- who knows what would’ve happened.”

“You worry too much.”

“And you not enough.” He warned with a ripple of amusement, then took Alisa’s hand into his own.

 

 

  When Kenma entered his room he was no more imposing than a spectre, pacing the floorboards to the rhythm of an airy, distant beat. Kuroo, currently sat at the desk by the far wall, ignored him entirely, moving only to remove the cigarette from his mouth and blow curls of smoke to the air, before lowering his head once more.

“I’m surprised to see you here.” Kenma mumbled.

“And I’m surprised by your surprise.” Kuroo answered, pen in hand to hastily scrawl a note. “We both live here, do we not?”

“We do, but I was convinced you’d moved into the investigation room for good.” Kenma remarked.  “Unless you’re done with work for the day-”

“I’ll never be done.”

 Kuroo slapped his pen to the desk, and took a long drag of his cigarette. Flecks of ash hit the surface in the process, and rather than swipe them away he stared in wonder, for they had formed a constellation of sorts. A plethora of dirty, grey stars amidst skies of parchment and ink.

 

“You’re analysing Taketora’s statement, correct?” Kenma eventually prompted in the hush, somewhat hopeful for a positive answer.

“I was.”

Kenma concentrate his gaze, and stepped forward. “Then you’ve come to a conclusion. Found meaning to his testimony-”

“I found shit.” The words scratched at Kuroo’s throat, devoid of compassion. “I know what people want, what they expect of me from this job… but I can’t find what’s not there. It’s impossible.”

“And just what’s not there, precisely?” Kenma scowled incredulously, “What do his words lack?”

To that end Kuroo paused, and stubbed out his cigarette. “... Nothing, and yet everything.”

 

 Suffice to say Kenma did not follow, approaching the desk with an authoritative stance. Upon closer inspection he could see Kuroo’s right palm in the shadows, sat flush to the cover of a book which he dragged over the scraps of paper and ash, then opened with distinct caution. The book was a precious item, presumably, given the fond smile that soon twisted Kuroo’s features, and had his eyes form dangerous slits.

“Kuroo-”

“Sit.” Kuroo signalled to the nearby chair, “There’s no need for formalities between us.”

“I’d rather stand.”

“Suit yourself.” Kuroo held no shame in his blatant lack of care, fingertips drumming upon the book in contemplation meanwhile. “Though since you’re here we might as well talk.”

“I suppose.” Came the formulaic response.

 

  The abrupt death of the conversation brought nothing but joy for Kenma, who took a moment to expel the breath he’d subconsciously held until then. Everything about Kuroo, their relationship, and their talks were predictable as of late. Predictable to the point of boredom, to the point that Kenma often sought means to escape Kuroo’s company rather than dwell in it.

  And perhaps those feelings were mutual, Kenma considered when he scanned Kuroo’s expression. It had descended fast into a sombre frown, and his eyes travelled the open pages of the book to bide some time, and provide a decent distraction from the quiet looming overhead.

“Are you interested in the mind, at all?” Kuroo asked dryly after some thought, then swallowed.

“Not in reading about it.” Kenma spoke plainly, willing to indulge Kuroo’s topic for now. “People aren’t that difficult to understand, if you observe them well enough.”

“True.” Kuroo’s voice raised a notch in anticipation, and he looked to Kenma with a grin. “But there’s ways to test it, to push its boundaries and really grasp what drives a man to survive. Why he chooses to fight, instead of run. Why some endure, quietly, rather than lower their heads and pray they’ll go unnoticed-”

“What’s this got to do with Tora’s testimony?”

“It doesn’t. I’m done with it.”

 

Kenma’s stare hardened.

 

“…What?”

“I said I’m done. It was boring.” Kuroo closed the matter with a lazy smile, and stretched his arms above his head. “I gave it a good five, maybe ten minutes of my time… then decided to read.”

“ _Kuroo._ ”

“It’s a good book, I promise-”

“I don’t care about that.” Kenma seethed, “Tora’s words are a hundred times more valuable than the crap written by those media vultures. He was a _victim-_ ”

“And a fucking saint, apparently.” Kuroo scoffed, shooting Kenma a questioning glare. “Just how many worshippers does he have in the Roost, hm? Are you one of ‘em too?”

“He’s my friend.” Kenma reasoned, and pulled his lips into a thin tight line.

“Then please, enlighten me.” Kuroo’s single brow, not masked by that mop of hair, raised high and creased the skin of his forehead. “For all his muscle, and that haircut of his he’s incredibly… plain, shall we say? I won’t deny that he’s polite, but I honestly can’t see why the majority of the Roost praise his existence as if he were some holy entity.”

“He’s kind.” Kenma hissed the last word, and Kuroo appeared visibly wounded. “He was good to you the moment you arrived here, always has been. Have you ever seen him in a fight with anybody?”

“No. But then for we all know he takes his battles out in the dark alleyways where no one can see-”

“That’s ridiculous.” Kenma spat.

“But not impossible.” Kuroo raised, then slapped his book shut with a soft puff of air. After that he straightened up in his seat, and turned to Kenma as if he were to deliver a speech, eyeing his recipient with keen interest. “Are you aware he has no coherent understanding as to what happened back at that mansion?”

“No. But then I’ve never made it my business to ask him what occurred.”

“And it’d be a waste of time if you did-”

Kenma cut that snide insight off with a glare, and Kuroo cleared his throat before continuing.

“Really though… His account is a disaster. All he can recall are fragments of places, people... voices that may as well be nothing more than fantasies.”

“Hence you decide to disregard them, and instead embrace the wealth of crap churned out by newspapers on a regular basis?”

“The writers know their work. They’ve studied the case for years.”

“As have you.” Kenma scolded, leaning in close, “But you’re fortunate, unlike them. You live alongside all the victims of the case, and work with Ukai, Vol’s chief detective investigating the matter-”

“Myself and several others.” Kuroo replied gruffly, propping his chin in a hand as he leant against the desk. “Did you hear he’s rallied Iwaizumi into the work now?”

“That’s not a bad idea, all things considered.”

“It’s terrible.” Kuroo corrected, “He’s another one of those sorts I can’t stand... Practically perfect, loved by everyone-”

“Be that as it may, he was directly involved with the incident.” Kenma felt fit to remind Kuroo, who had begun to slump even further into his self-pity. The skin at the corners of his mouth, prematurely aged through stress, now folded over itself like a thick leather, explicitly conveying his feelings.

“Still hate ‘em.”

“You’re so childish.” Kenma frowned. “Ukai’s asked for your assistance for a reason, same goes for Iwaizumi. So at the very least accept Iwaizumi’s help, and in turn help him if he needs it.”

“Why thank you.” Kuroo humoured the advice via a laugh through his nose, “I’ll call on you again when I require a sermon.”

“I’m being serious.”

“Such is your nature.” Came the mocking tone, “Still I don’t recall asking for it.”

“You don’t ask much of me at all.”

“That’s right.” Kuroo concluded, breaking into an empty smile. He had barely made contact with Kenma the past couple of days, and it didn’t faze him in the slightest. Rather than bring his paperwork to bed, he now slept amongst it instead, resulting in less moaning, shoving and overall a great deal more progress.

 

“Tetsurou.” Kenma uttered after a short while, “Do you think this is worth it, honestly…?”

 _“Worth it?”_ Kuroo snapped from the murky haze of his thoughts with a violent glare, astounded by Kenma’s question. “What d’you mean, is it worth it?”

“Just wondered. I don’t deny the case is important, but I thought-”

“The investigation is everything.” Kuroo spoke with steeled confidence. “Back in Morne, I treated it as a hobby. A means for me to pass the time, distract myself from the possibility that I might be sacked the following morning for no reason. But here… here it’s so much more.”

“An obsession.” Kenma stated.

“ _A future!”_ Kuroo exclaimed, grabbing for a fresh cigarette and his matches, “Don’t you get it? This is what I’m here for!”

“No. You were called here to writ-”

_“Enough about that!!”_

 

 Kenma stilled his tongue, taken aback. Kuroo was not above shouting or remarks, not at all, but to direct them at Kenma of all people was a rarity beyond measure. Incomprehensible, dare he say it.

“Tetsurou-”

“I’m done with that shit.” With a single harsh swipe Kuroo sparked the match to life, then brought it to the end of his cigarette. “There’s plenty of people who can take my job, become a decent writer, but not everybody can handle a case such as this... It needs me.”

 Appalled, Kenma shook his head. He had suspected a change in Kuroo’s beliefs, but to have slipped so far in such a short space of time… Kenma could only despair for his wellbeing.

 

“… You used to be brilliant.” He began. “Do you remember when we lived apart? How you’d write to me and send me your works?”

“Of course, my memory still serves me well.”

“I really enjoyed them.” Kenma resumed, brushing Kuroo’s sarcasm aside, “At first it seemed a bit needy, but over time I looked forward to your letters. Wondered what mad stories you’d conjure up next…”

“Great.” Kuroo mocked, “And you suppose I’d be better off pursuing them, as opposed to work which will directly benefit our people, and discover the truth?”

“No, that’s not it I-”

“ _Enough_.”

 Kuroo stood up conclusively, a horrible scrape coursing through the floorboards when he shoved his chair back in the process. Quickly then he snatched up his belongings, his book and papers most importantly, and held them to his chest in a vice-like grip as he stomped to the door. “If Ukai needs my help then I will deliver that tenfold, regardless of the cost.”

“Even if that cost were to include us?”

 One final stomp, and Kuroo stopped in his tracks. All the while he remained in the room, he became horribly aware of Iwaizumi’s influence and work ethic, how easily he might overtake Kuroo and render him useless… and by no means did he intend to fall as a result of Kenma’s mutterings.

“You what…? I didn’t catch that.”   

“Wasn’t important.” Kenma replied with a vacant stare. “See you later, perhaps.”

 

 


	25. Grout

 As the winter’s sun hit its peak the Maze became awash with a splattering of gold, flecks of light bouncing off the rooftops overhead. Amidst the scenery a flash of amber burnt bright, the final glow of Ukai’s cigarette which he tugged from his lips, and threw out the window. 

Across the room Daichi sat snug in his worn leather chair, breaking the silence with a bump when his elbows hit the desk.   

“… I must say, I’m impressed.” 

“It’s a nice view.” Daichi agreed out of habit, currently distracted by the paper to hand. 

“I meant you.”

Ukai let the words settle in the air, stone faced when Daichi calmly met his gaze. 

“I don’t understand.”

 Without delay the detective then croaked a low, hoarse laugh, and shoved both hands into his coat pockets. “Nor do I! I thought that partner of yours was the sole pair of balls in the Roost, but it appears I’m mistaken.”

“You talk as if I achieved the impossible.” Daichi remarked, setting Sakijima’s health report aside. “I simply suggested that Sugawara go out for the afternoon and help fetch the supplies. The fresh air will do him good.”

“He had the look of a bear woken early from hibernation!” Ukai scoffed, his voice rising in amusement, “Really, how you convinced him to leave is beyond me.”

“Sugawara is often beyond me.” Daichi cracked a smile, then reclined in his seat. “And you should save your praise. Much as I wanted the best for him, we too can benefit from a moment’s peace.”

“The girl’s gone with him?” Ukai probed, hopeful. 

“If you mean Akane, yes.”

“Thank goodness. She’ll have my head at this rate.”

“You’re scared…?” Daichi quirked a brow, amused.

“Hardly. But the woman’s more explosive than an Eastern firework.” Ukai grimaced, dragging a chair over to the desk. “She’ll be a challenge to talk to on her own, let alone in the same room as her brother.”

“And that’s why you threw her out earlier?” Smiling harder, Daichi’s polite façade soon crumbled, and he burst into a velvety ripple of laughter, “In that case I can only wish you the best. No doubt she’s riled up and cursing your very existence as we speak.”

“Can’t joke about that. A prisoner did try to curse me once.” Ukai reminisced in an eerily fond tone, staring off into the distance, “Just after the bastard was hung a bird shat on my head, so perhaps there’s some truth in that sort of thing.”

“… Perhaps.” Daichi indulged him with a frown.

 

  Spying the onset of one of Ukai’s infamous storytelling sessions, Daichi’s eyes roamed the desk, and eventually settled upon their meeting notes. With Sugawara gone he had a moment to breathe, plan ahead, and hopefully rip Ukai from his talk of retiring by the sea, where he could smoke and drink as he please.

“Detective.” Daichi subsequently cut in, upholding a grounded posture when Ukai’s steely glare shot his way. “Your thoughts on the meeting, if you would.”

“Thought I made them clear.” Ukai grunted, beginning to slouch in his own chair. “I don’t think that Taketora kid was lyin’. I’ve seen plenty of souls like ‘im, scrambled in the head thinking about what happened-”

“You think he’s mad?”

“ _ No _ .” Ukai’s glare hardened. “And anyone who does is unfit to press this investigation further.”

“What a relief.” Daichi sighed, and let his shoulders relax. “It feels like the authorities here are so quick to brand victims lunatics when it suits them best.”

“That’s because they’re scared, and incapable of finding the truth.”

“It’s sheer laziness.” 

“That too.” Ukai concluded with a kind, foreign smile.    

 

  Many moons ago, when Daichi and Sugawara invaded his office seeking help, Ukai had instantly penned Daichi to be the quiet, flexible sort. The type that bends to every change in the wind, and would oblige Sugawara’s orders in full… and yet he proved Ukai wrong entirely. 

  The stern glaze to his eyes, and his confident stance were not signs of a man easily pushed about, but in fact mirrored that of his grandson, Keishin, who busy herding the Crows into a routine in the middle of the Hall. The hard soles of their boots, scuffing and squeaking against the polished floor whilst they executed tricks could be heard from the office, and during a moment’s pause they both listened; content as the walls shook with an atmosphere Daichi thought long gone the past couple of weeks.

“Keishin’s been a great help. Takeda too.” Daichi spoke without prompting. “That lot aren’t the easiest to control.”

“I’d expect nothin’ less from my own blood.” Ukai dismissed the comment with a snarl, pulling a small box of cigarettes from his inner coat pocket. “Kid’s still got a ways to go though.” 

“You’re proud of him, I can tell.” 

“Piss off.”

“I knew it.” Daichi quipped, seeking to change the conversation before Ukai could further stew in his irritation, “Anyway, back to Taketora. You believe him?”

“Yes, yes. I thought it I made it obvious.”

 Following his reply there was a slip and shuffle of fabric, the sound of Ukai’s coat brushing the arms of his chair as he attempted to retrieve his cigarette from the floor. “I wanna’ say he’ll get better in time, but he won’t.”

“What…?”

 Daichi should have predicted such an offhand response, but the statement bothered him nonetheless. One performer was already injured before they had a chance to make the stage, the majority of a group was set to leave in a matter of days, and now this?

“Don’t think on it too hard.” Ukai continued, finally sat upright with his smoke to hand. “I’m not saying he can be fixed, but he might improve, if he wants.”

“… How so?”

“Change.” 

Ukai could offer no better than that, snorting at Daichi’s hardening expression. 

“I’m just going on Nekomata’s judgement, the old cat’s usually right about these sorts of things.”

“And what the hell does he mean?”

“Depends on your interpretation.” Ukai shrugged, lighting his cigarette, “From what I see, that kid and his sister are stuck in a loop, talking with the same people, sticking to the same schedule… that’s not healthy in the long run.”

“So you’re saying we should change their routine?” Daichi interrupted, somewhat optimistic. Any minor alteration to their jobs could be arranged easy enough, if that’s all it required. Then he and Sugawara could shuffle the Dorms plans about perhaps, give everyone a sense of variety.

“I know what you’re thinking.” Ukai scolded, flicking his burnt out match across the desk shortly after. “If changing their careers was gonna’ help you’d have done it a long time ago. What they need is something dynamic thrown into that bland old system of theirs. Something that’ll shake things up a bit.”

“New people, perhaps…?” 

 Little by little Daichi slipped deeper into his thoughts, contemplating the newest arrivals and the influence they could bring. Granted, they were too late to perform in the upcoming show, but there would always be others. They could practice in the meantime, tide things over whilst they waited for the rest of their group to arrive, and who knows, by then Sakijima’s injuries might have healed.

“I need to go.” Daichi uttered beneath his breath after a minute, staring hard at the report.

“Go where?” Ukai replied in a hushed, wary tone. “You’ve got a business to run-”

“I know, I’m heading to the Dome.” With that Daichi shoved back his chair, rising to his feet. The paperwork returned to its pile on the desk, unnecessary for what he had in mind. “You can join me, if you like.”

“I suppose I should.” Ukai relented, stubbing his cigarette out on the arm of his chair. 

“Perhaps you should also complement your grandson for his hard work.” Daichi suggested whilst Ukai wandered over. As per his expectations, the notion was shut down fast with a glare, and in turn Ukai’s face shifted to something sour. The skin of his upper lip crumpled and tugged up into a sneer, and his cheeks hollowed whilst he took a long, exasperated breath. 

“Or maybe not.” Daichi laughed and walked out into the Hall, accepting defeat with a modest smile, and the drive to try again another day. 

 

 

_ Steady _ . Matsukawa reminded himself, as he trod to his room with a tray clutched tight in both hands. 

  Nerves, adrenaline… he hadn’t the faintest clue what was driving his body at that precise time, but the occasional flash of Sakijima’s smile in his mind was enough to throw him off balance every now and then, and question their unpleasant encounter that morning.

  That said, such thinking was pointless, he realised. The health report, tailored to Sakijima’s preferences, was now in Daichi and Sugawara’s hands, and there was nothing more he could do. So as long as the man kept his distance they would both be happy, and Hanamaki would probably live to see another day.

“I’m back.”

 Nudging the door open with his shoulder, Matsukawa sidestepped into the bedroom then kicked it shut for good measure. Only when the  latch clicked could he find it in himself to relax, smiling fondly at the head of pink hair nestled within their bed. 

“You awake?” Matsukawa set the tray on their bedside table, then leant over. 

“Depends who’s asking.” Hanamaki’s voice slurred, drunk on sleep.

“I brought us lunch.”

“Huh…” For a short time Hanamaki’s expression gave away nothing, his eyes forming slits as he peeled back the sheets to expose his upper body. “But I am lunch.” 

“I’m not a cannibal.”

“Nor are you a comedian.” A smile graced Hanamaki’s face nonetheless, and in quiet surrender he moved to sit up against the headboard. 

 

 In the meantime Matsukawa left to grab a seat for himself, returning with a small stool that he set beside the bed with a plonk. Albeit little in size, the item was revered as an important relic on Plants floor, for it had survived many a fight in the kitchen, and one flight across the hallway that barely missed Kindaichi’s head.

  Come to think of it, that was probably when Matsukawa decided to adopt the furniture for his own, Hanamaki mused, watching it disappear beneath his partner’s bulk as he sat down. Once settled, Matsukawa grabbed for the two small cups on the tray, keeping one in his hand and passing the other over.

“Aha! Thank y- eugh.” 

Gratitude tossed itself to the wind, much as Hanamaki considered hurling the contents of the cup over Matsukawa.

“Issei, are you serious?”

“Perhaps too serious.” Matsukawa contemplated, bringing his own cup to his lips. Whether that was another crap attempt of humour or not, Hanamaki accepted it with the same level of scorn.

“A man tried to spray my blood all over our ceiling today, and you decide to give me herbal tea?”

“It has relaxing properties.”

“So does beer.”

“You don’t need that.” Matsukawa deadpanned.

“Then you don’t need to smoke.” Hanamaki scoffed. With that said a familiar grin surfaced, and the corners of his eyes began to wrinkle. His laughter lines, Matsukawa called them. 

“We can have beer later.” Matsukawa tried to compromise, warily gulping his tea whilst he observed Hanamaki. Reluctantly then Hanamaki took a sip of his own drink, the flowery, convoluted mess all too soft and delicate, given the mood. Regardless he let it linger on his tongue a while, thankful it’s warmth at least.

“You know I was right back then. His injuries are suspicious.”

Matsukawa averted his gaze. “Or a result of a fight. He strikes the sort to piss people off fast.”

“It could still be suspicious.”

“And what can we do if it is?” Matsukawa challenged with furrowed brows, returning his cup to the tray with a clack. “D’you want us to drag him back in here for questioning? We’re not police, we don’t have the authority or the power, and even if we did-” 

“ _ Enough _ , Issei.” Hanamaki’s voice struck calm, yet imposing. His own cup returned to the tray in due course, and with his free hand he then cupped Matsukawa’s cheek, gently prying his focus from wherever it sought to escape. “You’re not sounding like yourself today.” 

“I dunno’ how I sound at all.” Came the glum response.

“Usually better than this.”

Matsukawa offered a brief glance, subconsciously leaning into Hanamaki’s hand. “… What else do you expect? After this morning-”

“Forget that happened.” A second hand clapped onto the other side of Matsukawa’s face, forcing him to meet Hanamaki’s pointed stare. “Forget whatever the little shit tried to do to me, and think back on the examination. What would you have done after that, if he hadn’t pulled that stunt?”

“I don’t follow.”

“No matter what happened in the end, we still saw what we saw.” Slowly Hanamaki’s tone softened, and a thumb stroked the skin of Matsukawa’s cheek. “You’re not stupid, and you’re certainly not the type to let something weird slip by without a second thought. So tell me what you really make of his injuries.”

A deep grunt sounded. Carefully then, Matsukawa pried his head free, took Hanamaki’s hands in his own, and begun to smile. Not the condescending smile they liked to use on their fellow residents, and not the elated, overly keen sort either. Just a sincere, simple smile.

“There was something I didn’t understand.”

“Yes?” Ecstatic, Hanamaki slapped his hands to the bed, then clenched them tight. “Go on, go on.”

“I’m trying.” Matsukawa snorted, rising from his stool to search through a tall cabinet by the bed. “… Anyway. I couldn’t help but notice that when Sakijima arrived, he wouldn’t shut up about his ribs.”

“With all due respect, they’ve been smashed to shit.”

“But they won’t cause any fatal harm, provided he’s careful.” Matsukawa added, “On the other hand there’s those cuts on his back, stuffed full of old, dry blood. If he’d left them any longer they’d get infected-”

“He falls ill, and the infection ultimately kills him.” Hanamaki finished, rather taken by the macabre thought. “I was more interested in that huge bruise down his spine, myself, but sure they’re important.”

“You’re missing the point.”

“What point, exactly?” Hanamaki said, taken aback.

  No reply came for a short moment, and the silence was supressed with the horrible grating of wood. Determined, Matsukawa yanked open every drawer of the cabinet in turn. With each unit he quickly dug his hand in, rummaged through the paperwork inside, and then shut it with discontent. After that cabinet he then moved along to the next, becoming more frantic in his behaviour.

“Sakijima claims he was injured falling down those stairs.” He noted after some time, continuing before Hanamaki could make a comment about stating the obvious. “And he also reckons he was seen to by the ship’s doctor.”

“Well yeah, why should we-”

“There’s no way he’s telling the truth.” Matsukawa cut in, deadly serious. “We might be the laziest doctors of our time but even we know that such injuries should be treated immediately. What kind of doctor overrides that knowledge, covers it up with a shit bandage job and sends the patient on their merry way?”

“Oh…”

“Yes?” Matsukawa arched a brow in wait.

“Well… No one would.” Hanamaki uttered, his voice gradually becoming louder as the reality sunk in. “Issei, you’re a genius-”

“Just statin’ the facts.” Matsukawa stated plainly, pausing once he reached the lowest drawer of the next cabinet. This one of all took a substantial might to pull, and once open caused papers spill across the floor. Rather than pick them up however, Hanamaki cocked his head with intrigue to see that Matsukawa was trying to empty the drawer altogether, shovelling the remainder of the papers out with both hands.

“The hell are you doing?”

“Looking for this.” Came the reply, and from the very bottom of the unit Matsukawa revealed a rectangular bundle, wrapped tight in a dirty brown fabric. Presumably satisfied, he then abandoned the drawer and the mess to stand up. “And you should get dressed.”

“But we’re not done with lunch.” Hanamaki jibed, nodding to the tray. Not that he cared for more tea, but the cheese and bread looked appetising enough, and he had hoped for a laidback afternoon. “Drop whatever that is and come to bed.”

Shaking his head Matsukawa stood firm, like a child adamant to avoid bedtime. “You’re the one who wanted to know my thoughts, now let’s go. We’ve got work to do.”

“I thought you wanted me to relax?”

“We can do that later.”

“But-!” Hanamaki was at a loss, tossing his hands up with a strangled sound in annoyance. 

 

  In hindsight he should’ve kept his opinions to himself; drank that stupid tea, eaten his food… but instead he had pushed his luck, and would be plagued with further talk of bruises and ribcages and the insufferable snake still interfering with his peace.

“Or would you rather go out naked?” Matsukawa asked, impatiently lingering by the door at that point. “It’s rather cold outside, so I wouldn’t recommend it.”

“You’d enjoy the view all the same.” Hanamaki sneered, then hauled himself out of bed.

 

  Only when Hanamaki was at last presentable to the public did Matsukawa open the door, leading him through the Dorms. Just before they left Hanamaki made sure to grab a couple of sandwiches from the tray; one which he kept in his hand, and the other he shoved in his mouth, Matsukawa noted with a smile and a roll of his eyes.

 

“So… Where’re we going, exactly?” Hanamaki piped up after some consideration. Not that he didn’t trust his own partner, but his sudden resolve was curious, to say the least. 

Then there was the matter of the strange package in his arms, wrapped in a moth eaten cloth. Perhaps Hanamaki had been shown the contents before, and not paid attention (which sounded highly likely) but still, it wouldn’t hurt to find out again.

“To the kitchen.” Matsukawa replied whilst he crossed the courtyard, the other man trailing behind. “I want to try an experiment.”

“Sugawara won’t be happy with that.” Hanamaki laughed. “Remember the last one we did?”

“That failed for numerous reasons.” 

“Very true.” 

“Daichi’s in the Dome with the detective, before you ask.” Matsukawa added, his tone as flat as the winds were cold. “They won’t be bothering us either.”

“I see.” Hanamaki accepted, his curiosity peaking. “So, quick question.” 

“Another?”

“Funny, arsehole.” Hanamaki joked, finally matching Matsukawa’s strides. “About this thing we’re gonna’ do. Is it dangerous?”

Matsukawa shrugged. “Could be.”

“Will it get us in trouble?”

“Most likely.”

 Hanamaki felt his skin strain under the widening of his smile, utterly delighted by the prospect. “But what  _ kind _ of trouble? The sort that gets us a Daichi lecture, or the Iwaizumi one?”

“Hopefully not the latter.” Matsukawa grimaced, before bursting into a hearty chuckle. “All I can say is that we’re gonna’ need what’s in here-” He motioned to the box in his arms, “And a pig.”

“ _ A pig?” _

“A pig.” Matsukawa repeated, as if it were the most trivial detail. “Or half of one at least. We’ll see.”

“I can’t wait.” Hanamaki entertained the thought with a harsh, bark of a laugh, and shoved both hands deep into his trouser pockets. 

 

 

 When the clock tower bells began to chime Washio slipped a hand into his coat, feeling for his pocket watch. It was time for the two groups to reconvene, and yet no matter where he looked, the other half of their merry ensemble were nowhere to be found.  

“Are we late…?” He asked, chancing the possibility that both the tower and his watch might be wrong. He did not think Yamiji an irresponsible man, but to go against his own terms seemed rather disorganised, to say the least. 

“Give them a moment.” Konoha sighed, and clapped a hand upon Washio’s shoulder. “We barely made it back in time ourselves, thanks to Sooty and Pipes here.”

“Oi!” 

Right on cue Komi expelled a tremendous belch, almost drowning out the final bell in the process. “We got you a decent lunch, ungrateful prick.”

“By resorting to emotional blackmail.” Konoha shot back, eyeing a shifty Sarukui in turn. 

  He was not a fool, and certainly no stranger to their sneaky tactics, so when they returned not long ago with a wealth of food and drink he could only cast his suspicions, and question the means of which they acquired such a feast.

  On the flip side, he couldn’t fault Sarukui’s forward thinking, but it wouldn’t do to sweeten the situation, and give the impression that he willingly condoned their behaviour. 

“Well whatever.” Komi shook off the accusation like an ill-fitting jacket, and brought his hands together, “Seeing as the others aren’t here, I don’t see the harm in us having another look around.” 

“No.” Washio pressed. “Yamiji said to wait here.”

“Yamiji said a lot of things.”

“All of which you ignored.” Konoha saw fit to remind them both, then cast his stare to Sarukui, hoping that he was still with them. Given his large frame, and the clothes which added an excess bulk to his figure Konoha thought it impossible to lose him, but nevertheless they had on a handful of occasions, the first of which set them into a mad panic. 

  The second time was equally concerning, but by the third it was no more than an inconvenience, and had Konoha contemplating means of which to attach him to Washio, and avoid it happening again. 

 

“So what d’you suppose we do, stand around all day hoping they show up?” Komi emphasised his point with a glare, and shoved both hands into his trouser pockets. Within one sat the remainder of Yamiji’s money, a tight wad of notes which he clenched a fist around for good measure. “They might’ve gotten lost, you know.”

“In which case we should definitely stay here.” Konoha exhaled. “If we wander off there’s half a chance they’ll turn up, and then they’ll be the ones worrying.”

“I’m not saying we should leave the area, just that we could go visit the shops again. You wanted some of those fabrics, right?”

“I- Well… yes. I did.” Konoha stammered, almost biting on his tongue in the process. Given Washio’s reluctance to speak unless necessary, Komi shouldn’t have gotten his hands on that information. “But that was just a thought. I’m not about to spend someone else’s money without permission.”

Washio’s face conveyed another story entirely, but he thought it better left unsaid. 

 

“Alright. Standing here it is.” Komi yielded, throwing both hands up with a hefty sigh. With the late afternoon rolling in the crowds had begun to thicken, and he grunted when the occasional elbow jabbed into his back and sides. In truth the day was proving to be as shoddy as Yamiji’s timekeeping, and the sooner they arrived at the factory, the better.

 

 The next minute on Washio’s watch was the slowest. A miserable Komi hung his head, passing the time by jabbing his toe against the stones underfoot. Sarukui on the other hand could say or do nothing, much to his frustration, whilst Konoha had taken to examining the palm of his hand.

“Perhaps we could take a look at the stalls.” He proposed kindly, then put his watch away.

  Surprised by Washio’s change of heart, Komi whipped his head in his direction, and Sarukui blinked slowly, waiting. Konoha meanwhile readied an objection with parted lips, but held it there, permitting Washio to continue.

“We should be enjoying our time away from The Roost, but all we’re doing is arguing, and worrying.” 

“We have valid reasons to be worried.” Konoha relayed in softened tone, earning a dip of Washio’s head in agreement.

“But there’s no cause to be so serious. We can still make the most of the situation.”

“I suppose.” Konoha replied, doubtful.

“I dunno’ about anyone else, but I hate this.” Komi soon grumbled, his eyes drifting in Sarukui’s direction, “And it’s not fair on him, having to stay quiet for so long.”

“But when we reach the factory-”

“We shoulda’ gotten that out of the way already, and gone home.” Komi cut the reply short, frowning, “Stalling the visit is only putting us at more risk.”

“That’s true.” Washio confirmed. 

“But you think it’s unfair too, right?” Komi persisted, “I mean, I know this guy could be recognised, but then so could we. Foreign or not, we’re hardly average looking.”

“A fair point.” Konoha conceded, and let his eyes wander over Washio longer than necessary. “I doubt anyone could forget a man like you.”

“And there we have it.” Komi declared, pushing the topic on before Konoha derailed it with his observations. “If someone’s out here looking for us, we’ve gone and made the job a ton easier for them, and the same goes for the other half of our group.”

“Huh…” 

Without another word Washio and Konoha gawked at one another, then to Komi. 

“How incredibly logical.” 

“And just what is that supposed to mean?”

“I’m trying to be nice.” Konoha spoke, even if his recipient believed otherwise. “When you think about it, I suppose none of us are safe. And if that’s the case… isn’t Akaashi the one we should be worried about? His incident is the most recent, after all.”

“There’s also Bokuto’s.” Washio considered. “Webb no doubt remembers the pair of them still.”

“But he’s working in Bokuto’s old town, so I don’t think it counts.”

“I disagree.” Komi interrupted, Sarukui likewise objecting with a shake of his head. On the point of Akaashi however he couldn’t argue, and reflected on their brief exchange before leaving the Roost. 

 

  For all Komi knew, his grumpy state back then was supposed to be a deterrent. A simple, yet effective guise to keep the others at bay. Needless to say it failed, Komi mused, but it did not change the circumstances, nor Akaashi’s behaviour. He was deadpan to the extreme, so much so that Komi had to wonder if he grasped the situation. What it meant for the factory trio, for Bokuto, and for him; a recluse of two years, to mysteriously agree to leave the Roost without a care in the world.

 

  Komi could have debated the matter all day, given the time. Regardless a gentle tug on his sleeve drew him from his thoughts, coaxing him to meet a pair of sleepy green eyes, laden with concern.

“I’m alright.” He assured Sarukui, and tweaked his lips up into a smile.

“Then we should go.” Konoha encouraged in due course, “There’s an antiques stand just over there. It’s not too far, and this one can keep an eye out for the others.” He grinned shortly after, patting a hand to Washio’s chest.  

“But didn’t you want to check out the fabrics again?” Komi asked, tilting his head. “We don’t mind-”

“I like antiques as well.” Konoha insisted with a shrug, “And you know… if memory serves me right the owner has a room out back with some scrap materials...” 

One cue he looked to Sarukui, spying an obvious change, a sudden life in his eyes that made him grin. 

“But of course if you’d rather watch me ramble about rolls of cloth, you are more than wel-”

“Antiques it is.” Komi settled, pushing his way through the crowd with Sarukui right behind. It was somewhere around then that Washio became thankful for his height, for he could take a leisurely walk with Konoha further back, and still keep them in his sight.

 

“You’re too soft on them.” He soon teased, mimicking Konoha’s earlier accusations. “Did you have a change of heart?”

“How couldn’t I.” Konoha huffed, “D’you see the way they looked at each other just then? It was unbearable.”

“I thought it was sweet. All they did was make eye contact and they cheered up.”

Konoha mocked gagged at the memory. “My point exactly. I never thought they could be so… soft. Loving.”

“Don’t be ridiculous.” Washio scolded in dismay. “They’ve been in a relationship for years. Longer than us, if you’ll recall.”

“I know, I know. But I’m so comfortable with my pair of idiots that anything blatantly romantic is bizarre.”

“You’re bizarre.” Washio laughed, and Konoha burst into a grin.

 

  Up ahead, Komi and Sarukui wasted no time in reaching the antiques stall. Silent as ever Sarukui shuffled to the promised land of materials and began to rummage, whilst Komi watched from afar, occasionally plucking up an item from the display table out front. 

  Littered about the stand were broken bits of candlesticks, no doubt salvaged from a pub fight, assorted cogs and screws, signposts likely stolen from the residential district, amongst other things. Calling the wares antiques was pushing it, to be frank, but who was he to complain.

“He found them then.” Konoha chipped in, approaching the space beside Komi. Washio meanwhile took place at the far end of the stand, staring hard at the centre of marketplace with a force that made Aone’s glare seem positively harmless.  

“Wasn’t difficult.” Komi scoffed, glancing Sarukui’s way just in time to see him brandish his trusty paper note, and shove it at the stall owner to read. “He’d sniff out every bit of metal in the sea, if you gave him the chance.”

“Indeed.” Konoha replied, then took to examining the ‘antiques’ with a similar air of contempt. 

 

Much to Komi’s dismay the marketplace atmosphere only grew and grew, resulting in more shoving, shouting, and ignorant flapping of foreign tongues about his head which he didn’t give two damns about. Every now and then people would usher them both to one side, wave an object at the owner and screech until he caved in, accepting their petty shrapnel. 

“I think he just got ripped off.” Komi jeered quietly, earning a snicker from Konoha. 

True enough the owner appeared displeased, glaring at the change in his hand before dropping it into a small wooden box. After that he returned his attention to Sarukui, making polite, one sided conversation in hope that he would offer business to see him through the week, as opposed to the next couple of hours.

“What a shit existence.”

“Better him than us.” Konoha reasoned in a sombre tone. Calmly then he looked to his left where Komi stood, and broke into an abrupt, yet pleasant smile. 

 

  Unbeknown to Komi he had garnered a fan, a small child who hung about his side as he searched through a pile of cogs. He too wore a tattered, brimmed cap, a stain covered shirt, and trousers far too large for a boy his age, giving the impression that he was legitimate chimney sweep. 

  Logically speaking, that was probably what drew him to Komi, Konoha surmised in amusement. Perhaps the small boy thought he was in good company, and could make a friend. 

Komi, much to his regret, thought the small boy a nuisance, and acknowledged his smiling, overbearing presence with a snarl.

“What d’you want?”

The boy cocked his head, and giggled. The bigger, aggressive chimney sweep was foreign too, and therefore funny in his eyes.

“He won’t understand what you’re saying.” Konoha advised, unable to wipe the sly smirk off his face. 

“Yeah well he’s creepy as hell.” Komi remarked, only causing the child to laugh some more, and proudly display a few gaps in his teeth. “The fuck should I do with him?”

“Let him stay.”

“You serious…?”

 Komi raised a brow at the boy, considered his options, and then gingerly patted the top of his head. It was what his parents often did to him as a child, and he thought it was nice, so maybe the boy would appreciate it too. 

“I hope he pisses off soon.”

“Don’t be so mean!” Konoha exclaimed, slapping his upper arm, “Besides Pipes over there, he’s the only person so desperate to stay in your company.” 

“That’s not true.”

“Is too.” Konoha jibed, trailing off into a wicked laugh. To that Komi wrinkled his nose, and stared down at the child.

Only sad people enjoyed their own jokes, which made sense because he thought Konoha exceptionally sad. And a gigantic prick.

“Don’t laugh at anything he says.” Komi then instructed the boy in vain, pointing to the fox faced bane of his life. “You gotta’ like me alone, understood?”

The child nodded, figuring Komi’s jumbled, funny sounding question needed a yes. After that he launched forward, and hugged the man’s side. 

“Oh, how  _ cute _ …”

“Silence. I am appreciated.” Komi snapped Konoha’s way, then gave the child another pat. Strange as he was for embracing a complete stranger, he deserved some kindness in return.

 

  That said, Komi hoped the merry act would be short lived. If the boy became too attached he might follow him for the rest of the day, and that would bring all manner of complications. Heaven forbid what Yamiji would think of a new addition to the group, let alone Sugawara and Daichi, and the rest of the Roost. It went without saying they would be horrified, and Daichi would certainly accuse him of stealing the child, and insist Detective Ukai return him to his real family without delay. 

 Assuming he had a family, that is.

 

  On that depressing note Komi gazed down at the clingy creature, and pursed his lips. If he was genuinely without family, then he might also be homeless. That meant his keenness towards Komi could also be real, and he might- no… he would actually have to do something about it. 

“Oi…” He murmured softly following that realisation, then ruffled the boy’s hat. “Let go now.”

 The boy leant back to blink up at Komi, but did not let go. His tiny fists were clenched in the fabric of Komi’s trousers, and the white of his eyes shone bright amidst the dirty soot and grime covering his face.

“You gotta’ go.” Komi tried again, performing a walking motion with his hand then pointed to the child. “You. Go. Yes?”

 The seconds ticked by, and for a moment Komi feared the worst. Slowly but surely however the boy released his hold, stepped away, and clasped his hands quickly behind his back. 

“That’s it.” Komi nodded, shooing him off with both hands. “Find a new friend.”

 To that the boy began to smile bright, and brought his hands forward. With one hand he waved, making big, wide swings of his arm, but the other stayed by his side. 

  This, for some reason, piqued Komi’s curiosity, and it was only when he spied a thick roll of money in that fist did his jaw drop, and his innards began to bubble of with a raging heat.

“You little thief…!”

The boy ran.

 

 

  Without a moment’s hesitation Komi opted to give chase, Konoha’s protests fading into the background as he shoved through the sea of bodies ahead. Fortunately for the latter, Washio was alert and composed, as ever, and with a firm nod he turned on his heel, and stormed after the pair fleeing the marketplace.

  Still gawking back at the stall, Konoha cursed their luck to no end. No matter how hard they planned, or how careful they were, nothing ever seemed to go as they endeavoured. Nevertheless as he saw Washio slip into the distance he knew he could not dwell on their misfortunate for long, so with a hissed swear he shook his head, and quickly hauled Sarukui away from his materials.

Left, right, another turn. 

  Try as the child might to shake Komi off, he persisted, and behind him Washio began to close the gap. Therefore his best hope to lose them was to run deeper into the northern alleyways, to the very belly of the slums. There they might stumble over a stray drunkard, or a haphazard pile of crates, and so on he went, charging through the streets under the cloak of brickwork and shadows.

  Distant and whisper-like, Komi swore he heard the others call his name along the way, yet he pressed on. It was too mumbled after all, mingled with shouts from passers-by, and besides, the sooner he caught the little pickpocket, the sooner they could get back to the marketplace.

All of a sudden, a whistle blew. 

 None of the group, nor the boy, cared to discover the cause of the latter sound, and with that drive to mind weaved their way through a damp ridden alley next. Thankfully then the whistle became muffled, masked by the flurry of yelling and the sound of water splashing about their feet as they charged through murky puddles.  

 Truth be told, it had been a long time since any of the men had run so fast, so determined, and were it not for the fact he needed to catch the little sod up ahead, Komi might have been able to appreciate his athletic ability. In fact he might have considered doing it more often, until a loud, gunshot of a bang coursed through the walls, and caused him to falter. 

Blood pounded in his ears, and his lungs began to heave under his ribs. 

  He shouldn’t have thought about that night, several years ago. It was pointless. Washio and Sarukui had told him so on several occasions. Running was running, and should not be associated with one blackened memory. 

Nevertheless he stumbled, and with a gasping breath he took a sharp turn into a wide, open street, and staggered to a halt.

The sharp turn was a wrong turn, he accepted with defeat, and placed both hands on his knees. 

“Fuck it all…”

 

 Once, twice, he blinked, urging the pulse swirling his vision to subside. The blood pumping through his head had become dizzying, and only when his breaths stilled, and his sight became clear did he lift his head, and examine the street beyond.

  First and foremost, the area he had entered was empty, and a far cry from the cheer of the marketplace. A generous number of buildings were boarded up, the only evidence of their past life being the various signs hanging about their doors, faded and scuffed with age.

“You lost him…?” 

When Washio’s voice filled the eerie silence, Komi stood up straight, and forced a lump in his throat down with a smile.

“I went the wrong way. Sorry.”

“Don’t apologise.”

 Likewise tired from the sprint, Washio’s chest heaved for a moment, and he said no more on the matter. Instead he gazed over his shoulder, relieved when Konoha eventually staggered on through.

  Unlike Washio, Konoha was as pissed as the skies were blue, and rightly so. Be that as it may his anger was short lived, snuffed out like a flame when a lagging Sarukui toppled over by his side, tangled in a heap of wool and limbs. 

“Is he alright?” 

 Washio and Komi hurried over and huddled about the fallen man. Whatever doubts they had were gone as soon as they came, however, when Sarukui regarded them all with a pointed glare, and shooed them back with a hand. 

“… Do I look alright to you...?”

“Your mouth’s working.” Washio remarked, smiling down at the flushed-faced, woolly mess. “Even if you’re supposed to stay quiet.”

“Stuff it.” Sarukui grumbled, wobbling whilst Komi helped him onto his knees. Devoid of care for Yamiji’s rules he then tugged the scarf from his face, and scanned their surroundings. “And just where the hell are we, anyway…?”

“It’s an old market, I think.” Komi suggested, to which Washio shook his head. 

“See the bottles over there? The barrels too.” He pointed to a slim, cluttered alley between two buildings. “I think that was a pub.”

“Well whatever this is, we need to leave.” Komi replied, “For all we know the others have come ba-”

_ “Wait.” _

 

 To the surprise of all it was Konoha who interrupted, squinting hard into the distance. Several buildings down, just around the bend he had spotted a shadow, a silhouette of a figure which crept away in a hurry at the sound of their voices. 

“Leave them be. We need to go.” Washio warned, stopped short by a hiss from his partner.

 In any other scenario Konoha would have taken his advice, yet curiosity sank into him deep like a hook. One step at a time then he paced forward, stalking the shadow in a predatory fashion.

  Past the pub he went, then to a café and an old baker’s shop. Next was the toy store, the chemist, another pub until at last the figure paused, and Konoha’s eyes grew wide. 

He knew this district. Much as he knew the person ahead. 

Try as he might to quell his suspicions, there was only one person so tall, yet timid in their walk. Only one who hunched their shoulders out of nerves, and jolted in an unspeakable fear when he too realised he wasn’t alone.

 

_ “Wataru…?” _

 

Exposed, the man stilled, then slowly turned to face him with a look of shame. 

 

“… Akinori.”

“Wataru, why on earth are you here?” Konoha pressed, approaching calmly for fear that Onaga might flee if he so much as breathed. To his dread Yamiji and the others were nowhere to be seen, and the last thing they needed was to lose him here.

“I… I just-” Onaga started, then bit his lip.

“Yes?”

A chill whipped through the street, and Onaga pulled his coat about him tight. There was little need to explain further, he decided, and gestured in the direction of a large building up ahead. 

“… The same reason as you, I should think.”


	26. Flax

The wind that tore through the street was bitter, cold, and a cruel reminder that Onaga’s ears weren’t as small as he thought. It made him yearn for the comfort of the Dome, those plush red seats which begged to be napped in, and whilst even Konoha’s burnt coffee sounded tempting right about then, he had to focus on the present. Namely his four friends stood blinking, waiting on his next move.

As much at it pained Onaga to admit, they only stared because of his stupidity. Konoha had simply asked what he was doing, all alone in an abandoned street, and the first answer that sprung to mind was nothing short of ridiculous. 

_ The same as you…?   _

Onaga shuddered in recollection. Thankfully a well-timed breeze rolled by to mask his displeasure, but nothing could change what had been said. That careless, dramatic assumption had made it past his lips, stunned Komi of all people to silence, and even caused Washio’s eyes to widen. Just a little.

For what it was worth, Sarukui seemed bored. His own stare was much duller than the rest, as if hoping the scene might escalate into something bigger. It left Onaga with no choice but to consult Konoha, whom managed to express his opinion with a single glance. An indication that yes, Konoha understood what he meant, but no, he could have been more tactful with his answer. 

“Wataru. I think there's been a misunderstanding.” Konoha stated the obvious for their audience, “I know where we are, but it doesn’t mean we came here intentionally-” 

“And just where is  _ here,  _ exactly _? _ ” Komi cut in fast. He gestured to Washio and Sarukui either side of him subsequently, then cocked his head, “I mean, we’ve got no idea where we are, but I’m guessing this place is important to you both?”

“Well,” Konoha cleared his throat, feeling put on the spot. “It’s not-”

“It is.” Onaga blurted without a second thought, watching Konoha’s jaw fall slack at having been interrupted yet again. “The Old Theatre we lived in is a little further up the street.”

“I reckon that makes it important.” Sarukui concluded with a knowing smile. To his right Washio stood with obvious intrigue, eyes remaining large as he took in the situation. He wasn’t the sort to pry into past matters, and Konoha wasn’t the sort to talk, so suffice to say this was news to him as well. 

“We’re running late enough as it is.” He reminded the group, glimpsing at his pocket watch out of habit. “The others must be in the marketplace by now.” 

“I know.” Onaga agreed, anxiously thumbing the hem of his jacket. He hoped Washio might say something reassuring then, but instead he continued to glare at his pocket watch. It was only when Onaga hung his head that Konoha supposed he should intervene, but a nagging curiosity stopped him. Washio stopped him.

Despite the stern tone of his voice, the slope of Washio’s shoulders remained relaxed. He lacked all the frowning, deep mumbling and tension that came when he was genuinely bothered, which lead Konoha to believe that his behaviour was forced. That said, it was unlike Washio to play around at such a time, especially when Onaga appeared to be waist deep in his own guilt, so perhaps there was a good reason for his ways. Perhaps they were a precursor to something deep and meaningful. A rare monologue that would inspire the group to perk up.

“Washio wants to go look at this theatre of yours.” Komi interrupted, having grown tired of the suspense. “But I’m kinda’ curious too. We all are.”

Konoha kept a straight face as best he could, even when Washio grumbled at Komi for ruining his plan. Whilst he could appreciate their interest, a firm part of his conscience urged him to stand his ground. To stick to Yamiji’s orders and march them back to marketplace. But then there was the case of Onaga, whose defeated posture tugged far too many heartstrings for his liking. 

Konoha always had a hard time refusing him in such circumstances, and that afternoon would be no different. With no hesitation whatsoever he surrendered, mumbled a flustered ‘ _ very well’  _ before taking his leave, marching towards the theatre. From over his shoulder he could hear the group talking amongst themselves, wondering when Konoha had become so soft, but he brushed it off with a subtle smile, even when Komi bounded up to give him a quick push.

“Oi, oi. Are you really allowing this? I thought you wanted to keep on Yamiji’s good side?”

“You haven’t given me much choice.” Konoha scoffed, just about keeping his balance, “Who knows what would happen if I let you lot roam free.”

“We’d be fine.” Komi remarked, “Washio’s a responsible adult.”

Konoha couldn’t disagree there, glimpsing back at the man in question. He made no effort to hide his feelings towards Konoha’s decision, flashing a hint of that glorious smile every now and then. With one hand he gave Onaga’s shoulder a firm squeeze of encouragement; and with the other he signalled for Sarukui to pick up the pace, or so help him he’d be left behind.

“…He’s too kind for his own good.” 

“Same goes for you.” Komi hummed, giving Konoha’s back a zealous slap. 

 

 

“Aone, tell me the truth. Did I overreact back there?” 

Aone’s features remained frozen, intense, but his head shook to imply a polite ‘no’. It wasn’t much, but Sugawara reckoned that a better answer than any, and brushed his worries aside to resume his stroll about the city. He swung his arms as he went and kept his chin held high, whilst Aone preferred to stoop as much as possible, hiding behind the parcels in his arms.

“I’m glad to hear it.” Sugawara continued, “Still, I think I’ll have a word with Daichi when I return… To be thrown out of your home like that, your own  _ business-  _ I feel sort of humiliated. You get what I’m saying?”

Aone nodded. 

“See this is why I like you. You’re such a good listener.” Sugawara tapped the back of his hand to Aone’s arm, his smile permanent. Behind them a rabble of the Roost’s inhabitants followed; the majority of which Sugawara had nagged to join him on his errands. No one cared for whatever job he had in mind, but they cared for the chance to avoid work, and took him up on his offer regardless. They picked fights and joked along the way, setting the worst example possible, but at the very back; beyond the squabbling Crows, and a handful of unfortunate souls, Akane and Daishou walked along with a bizarre air of peace. No pushing or complaining about the chilly breeze. Just calm. 

For a short while neither spoke, which suited them both just fine. Akane spent the first stage of their trip walking off her anger towards Kuroo, and in time it subsided, replaced by curiosity. She hadn’t made the best impression on the Roost’s newest arrivals, but she keen to make amends fast, and learn some more about them.

“The city’s nice, isn’t it?” She began with something trivial, rewarded with a snicker from Daishou.

“It stinks of smoke and piss.” 

“True. But I’m sure there’s a lot of good things going for it.” Akane burst into an infectious laughter. She always resorted to that measure to hide her uncertainties, but Daishou was much wiser, much sharper than she anticipated. 

“It sounds like you don’t leave the Roost very often.”

“No.” The soft curls of Akane’s hair bounced as she shook her head, “I don’t tend to leave unless necessary.”

“And I suppose you don’t need to, when there’s so many people under one roof.” Daishou proposed, finding nothing out of place about her explanation. “Your brother is the same, I presume?”

“He’s always busy training.” Akane replied, visibly perking up at the mention of her sibling. A definite pride swelled in her then, which she displayed by puffing up her chest, and walking with big, confident strides. “But somehow you convinced him to have coffee with you. That’s pretty impressive!”

“My powers of persuasion  _ are _ rather good.” Daishou agreed wholeheartedly, “But not that good, honestly. Truth is I kept him in the kitchen whether he liked it or not.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.”

“You really should.” 

“Well I’m not going to.” Akane insisted, “Everyone has their bad side, I know. But so far all you’ve done is be nice to me.” She paused for a moment, her shoulders bobbing up and down in a hefty shrug, “I mean… you only came along on this trip because I wanted to. Right?”

“I did it to make sure you stay alive.” Daishou deadpanned, “If you go missing the first place your brother will look is my room, guaranteed. He’d think we’ve hidden your body under the bed or something.”

“Under the floorboards would be better. Who would think to look there?”

“That’s a lot of effort to hide a body.”

“That’s your problem, not mine.” Akane concluded with her usual sunny charm. In any other circumstance Daishou might have found her endearing, but given the context of the conversation she was no different to Sakijima and his scheming ways. 

As much as he liked the other man, a second Sakijima sounded terrible. So bad in fact Daishou promptly looked to the sky, staring at the lines of dirty washing to distract from that awful thought. When that proved too much he cast his attention forward, watching as the troupe weaved through scores of men and women into a thin walkway. In there Sugawara lead them straight past the pleasant smell of the bakery, and faster beyond the not-so-pleasant fishmongers, until they eventually arrived at the open marketplace. Their intended destination. 

“I think this is it.” Akane spoke aloud, earning a hum from Daishou. Up ahead Sugawara was calling for them to gather, which seemed like a better time than any for Daishou to do just the opposite. 

“Let’s go over there.” He insisted, giving Akane a gentle nudge. “They won’t notice.”

“I think they will when you’re dressed like that-”

_ “Watch your step!”  _

In a flurry of movement Akane felt a weight hit her back, causing her to stumble forward. Daishou’s hand quickly latched onto her shoulder to steady her balance, but his eyes were trained upon the culprits. Two figures scurrying towards the nearby alleyway. 

“Idiots…” He hissed, letting go of Akane’s shoulder once certain she was stable. “Are you alright?”

“I’m fine. Just fine.” Akane shook off the initial shock with a smile, then laughed. “Kinda’ took me by surprise though!”

“That could have been dangerous.” Daishou warned. “For all we know those were thieves.”

“Poor them. I’ve got nothing valuable on me.”

“That’s beside the point.”

“Oh, stop being so serious.” Akane scolded, rolling her eyes. “I’m quite capable of defending myself, thank you.”

“That you are.” Daishou murmured, his lips twisting up into a smirk. “Imagine how things would have turned out if you’d had a bottle on you. Or a pillow…!”

Akane said nothing. Instead she raised her brows high, and conjured up the deepest, coldest stare she could manage. The one she reserved for her brother when he was about to do something incredibly stupid, and now Daishou, who happened to say something incredibly stupid. 

“Never mind. We can humour that idea later.” Daishou mused, taking the hint. He followed Akane’s lead through the crowd, occasionally looking back to see if Sugawara or the others were watching. When all seemed clear he picked up the pace, but did not question Akane’s motives as she walked past the stalls altogether, heading for the alleyway instead.

“Daishou, can I ask you something?”

“I suppose.” Daishou held back a snort as Akane shot into the nearest alcove, and tugged him in. The stench of rotten food hit his nostrils fast enough to make him wretch, but given Akane’s serious tone he held his composure, and lifted a gloved hand to his face. “But might we find somewhere more suitable to talk?”

“This’ll have to do.” Akane pressed, placing both hands upon her hips. “Now tell me, about Kuroo-”

“You brought me into this shithole to discuss  _ him? _ ”

“It seems appropriate.” Akane laughed. Daishou couldn’t fault her reasoning, but still he kept his hand close to his face, and eyes to the floor in case of rats. Or worse.

“Very well. What do you want to know?”

“You’ve known him a while, haven’t you?” Akane asked without hesitation. “Far longer than I have at least.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Was he always such an idiot?”

“Quite so.” Daishou chuckled and gradually lowered his hand, having adjusted to the smell of their surroundings. “But then everyone is stupid in their own right. Human nature, if you will.”

Akane hummed in agreement. “Right, but was he always so… fixated on things? Obsessive?”

“Obsessive?” Daishou repeated in a steely tone, looking elsewhere. He carefully folded his arms next, and in that moment Akane felt a definite change in the air. Something about her question troubled him, that much was certain.

Without a word he drew a long, deep breath, and shifted his gaze in the direction of the marketplace. Akane likewise turned, hoping his behaviour might have some meaning, but nothing stuck out as obvious. 

“He was a strange child. But passionate.” Daishou informed in his own time, still staring at the marketplace however. “He put a lot of effort into what he liked. Much as we all do.”

“But now he’s-”

“I’m not saying you’re wrong. He is obsessive, to an extent.” Daishou stated calmly. At last he turned his head back in Akane’s direction, and his lips curled into a smile too kind for his sharp features. “Point is, what is it you believe he’s so fixated upon?”

“I dunno’. I just wondered.” 

Akane’s lie stunk about as much as the alleyway, causing Daishou to wrinkle his nose. 

“Back in the kitchen, you mentioned something about Kuroo being in an office.” He stated, treading cautiously when her eyes grew wide. “Now I don’t claim to be some great detective, but I know your brother was also in a meeting this morning. Was Kuroo with him?”

“That’s not- No.” Akane stopped herself no sooner had she begun to explain. Her expression emphasised something akin to pity, or regret, then she shook her head. “I’m sorry. I think we should go back to the group.” 

_ Like brother, like sister.  _ Daishou accepted, doing his best to hide his frustration. That was the second time the siblings had refused his offer to talk, but there was nothing more he could do. At the very least he was grateful to leave the cramped, smelly alcove, beckoning Akane to walk on with a wave of his hand.

 

 

“I don’t know about you, but I think that was far too close.” Akaashi remarked under his breath, watching Akane and Daishou slip back out into the marketplace. From over his shoulder he heard Yamiji grunt in agreement, whilst Bokuto nodded furiously, clinging to the sleeve of Akaashi’s jacket.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t realise it was them I bumped into…!”

“I ran into Akane as well.” Akaashi replied. “We’re both at fault.”

“There’s no use worrying about it now. The damage is done.” Yamiji spoke up in reassurance, and tugged them both back round their corner, further down the alleyway. “Though if you ask me, I suspect Ukai had some influence in all this.”

“What d’you mean?” Akaashi asked, genuinely concerned. “Are they out here looking for us?”  

Yamiji shook his head. “The detective likes his peace when he’s working. I presume he’s thrown that lot out of the Roost so he can have some time to think.”

“But I don’t see Daichi with them.” Bokuto piped up. “Only Sugawara.”

“Like I said, he doesn’t want to be disturbed.” Yamiji joked, fumbling in his pocket for his pipe and matches. Whilst he made a valid point, his theory didn’t justify why Aone of all people was present. Nevertheless Akaashi and Bokuto took it for what it was, for there were much bigger matters that required their attention. Like finding Onaga, for starters.

It was beyond them just how and when he had disappeared, but when they realised he was gone Akaashi and Bokuto had tried their best to recall where they last left him. They retraced their steps to their current location, even tried to climb a stall to get a better view, whereas Yamiji conveyed no urgency whatsoever. If anything he looked relieved to be watching over two people, as opposed to seven, and begun blowing smoke rings to the air once his pipe was lit.

“I think we should take a walk around the alleyways once more.” Akaashi proposed, “Maybe we’ll find a clue, or bump into the others. They can’t be far away.”

Bokuto nodded. Yamiji on the other hand removed his pipe, spluttered a wobbly smoke ring then sighed, watching it disperse a few seconds later.

“They’re fine. Give them time.”

“They’ve had plenty of time. Too much in fact.” Akaashi stressed. “And I don’t mean to be disrespectful, but you’re too calm all things considered.” 

“Some people are like that, I guess?” Bokuto said, hoping to ease the tension. Regardless of his efforts Yamiji maintained his composure all the same, and shot Akaashi a pitying smile. 

“I understand your point, but you have to trust me.”

“I do, but-”

“Then answer me this,” Yamiji declared, “why do you assume that your friends are lost?”

“Pardon?”

“Just because they’re not here, doesn’t mean they’re missing.” Yamiji clarified, slipping the pipe back into the corner of his mouth. “I know precisely where they are.”

“Since when?!” Bokuto and Akaashi piped up in unison. 

“Since we split into our groups.” Yamiji emphasised his disdain with a loud tut, and shook his head. He tapped his cane to the ground in thought, then eventually reached for the notebook in his coat pocket. Already the first couple of pages were filled with his writing, but it was the centre pages which held his interest, namely a slip of folded paper tucked into the spine.

“I’m not sure what Ukai has said about me, if anything.” Yamiji proceeded, calmly opening the sheet, “But you’d do well to remember there’s a reason you’ve been put under my watch. Ukai assigned me personally.”

“I gathered he trusts you.” Akaashi agreed.

“Trust is one thing, ability is another.” 

“Meaning…?”

Yamiji held back the urge to roll his eyes, choosing to wave the paper in Akaashi’s direction instead. It was a map of the city, he and Bokuto realised fast, and upon it were notes similar to those within the book, alongside various locations circled or aggressively crossed out. 

“It means that no matter what happens to you kids, he knows I’ll be able to find you.”

“That looks a lot like stalking.” Bokuto said without thinking. “Did you talk to Sugawara and Daichi about us?”

Yamiji took no offense, fortunately, and handed the map to Bokuto. “Haven’t had the chance. This is merely process of elimination, based on the little information you lot have provided.”

“That sounds difficult.”

“It can be.” Yamiji confessed with a smile. He then tucked the book away so that he could bring out his pocket watch next, examining the face with a narrowing gaze. Almost half an hour had passed since the arranged meet up time, which seemed like a sufficient head start for the others to do a little investigating without him.

“Keep a hold on that, it’s important.” Yamiji spoke aloud before turning on his heel. It was a silent command for them to move on, which Akaashi and Bokuto obeyed through sheer curiosity. Each footstep through the alleyway was accompanied by a thick sloshing sound, the sound of pulp and waste which kicked up a vile stink as it was shifted about. Akaashi considered looking down once to inspect the substance by his feet, but knew better than to test his stomach, and risk seeing his lunch a second time. 

Bokuto on the other hand kept his eyes upon the map, turning it in his hands to try and match their current direction. The numbers written besides certain streets and buildings were a complete mystery to him, but fascinating all the same. It was a clue Bokuto imagined Kuroo would have loved to find, and spend the night curled up on an armchair trying to decipher Yamiji’s notes.

“Does it make sense?” Akaashi cut off Bokuto’s thoughts with a mutter, peering in to look at the map as well. 

“Not one bit.” Bokuto surrendered, “There’s no hint as to what the buildings are supposed to be. Just load of writing.”

“There must be some kind of sign. A key perhaps?”

“Take a look for yourself.” Bokuto suggested, placing the map in Akaashi’s hand. His own patience with Yamiji’s riddles had already worn thin, but perhaps Akaashi might stand a chance, seeing that he had lived in the city longer.

“These figures appear to be dates.” Akaashi declared after some deliberation. He spoke intentionally loud for Yamiji to hear, hoping he might confirm Akaashi’s suspicions, but the old man walked on without a care in the world. He took a sharp turn on the right, ducked under the upcoming archway then went left, leading them down the next narrow path. The horrible sloshing sounds down below were beginning to fade, and in time Bokuto felt his shoes slap the hard cobblestones, as opposed to whatever mush they had been treading in prior.

“The names on here... are they workers? Wait no-” Akaashi continued to roll out his theories, his gaze flickering from the map to the streets ahead. “Assuming this paper is the right way up we’re headed for the northern half of the city. A lot of wealthier businessmen live that way.”

“I’m gettin’ kinda tired of rich old men.” Bokuto commented, earning a snort from Yamiji up front. Akaashi humoured his insight with a half-hearted smile, before checking the figures on the map. Nothing struck him as particularly obvious, but judging by their placement and times he had to assume they were closing dates. Some went back two, four years ago, and but no matter how hard he thought, Akaashi couldn’t figure out Yamiji’s logic.

“If the map were that easy to solve, I’d be in trouble.” Yamiji spoke aloud when he heard Akaashi grumbling, then made a swift turn into a wider alleyway. The tall buildings either side blocked out the sunlight, and the air stank of stagnant water, but he made quick work of walking them through to the upcoming archway, and out into an open street. 

“This looks promising.” Akaashi remarked sarcastically as the group came to stand in the middle of the path, observing their surroundings. Though there were plenty of buildings, and the street itself appeared to go on for quite a ways, every window and door was barred with wooden planks. Shop signs were creaking, hanging off their hinges, and when the wind picked up speed it caused a stray barrel to roll past their feet, and down into the narrow alleyway they had come from.

In its prime Akaashi was certain the street had been a lively place. Flourishing with people and a wealth of trade, but now it was deserted. Sad. 

“Yamiji…” He spoke up after some thought, trying to mask his concern. “Where on earth have you brought us?”

“To the others.” The man replied. Then hesitated. “I think.”

“You  _ think?” _

Yamiji held up his hands with a laugh. “I’m sure I’m right! Assuming I haven’t lost my touch.”

“I don’t believe this.” Akaashi sighed, referring to the map for help. Their current location was heavily littered with Yamiji’s annotations; buildings crossed out in coloured ink, whilst others were circled with question marks. Some of the marks appeared relatively new in fact, suggesting that Yamiji had been working on the document since they met, and was still making amendments that morning.

“Don’t be so quick to judge.” Yamiji warned with a permanent smile, pitying the bewildered young men in his care. “That map there was made in preparation for today. In case we stumbled upon any distractions.”

“Such as…?” Bokuto asked on Akaashi’s behalf. 

“Anything that might lure certain individuals away.” Yamiji elaborated, “The chance to revisit your old home. Old memories.”

“Stoker’s factory is further north, and hardly what one would call a home.” Akaashi snapped back, about ready to scrunch the map into a ball. “If you wanted to know where it was you should have asked.”

“Actually... I think he’s talkin’ about Konoha and Onaga.” Bokuto interrupted in an eerily calm tone. “They came to the Roost from a theatre, right?”

A chill ran through Akaashi’s veins, and his eyes grew wide. From the costume design to the acrobatics, even Konoha’s habit of quoting plays when he was frustrated, all of it made sense. He and Onaga must have gotten such skills before the Roost, but try as he might he could not recall any mention of a theatre. In fact most memories of Konoha and Onaga were a blur, a mash of moving lips and the feeling of comfort, but nothing more. There was no trauma, no intense emotions he could associate with them like the factory trio, so perhaps that’s why his mind simply forgot, and cast their stories aside.

“… That’s right.” He lied, “But how is it you found this out, Yamiji?”

“Instinct, and a bit of help from Nekomata.” 

“Who?”

“The shrivelled old bastard who now looks after your musicians.” Yamiji snorted, moving in to point at the map with his index finger. “He’s worked with several entertainment venues across the city, but The Old Theatre just down the road was a favourite of his. The owner was a good man you see, good ethics.” 

“Then why would it close?” Akaashi asked, returning the map to Yamiji. “A business like that must have been popular.”

“And expensive.” He answered simply, motioning for the pair to follow him down the street. “S’not something I expect you to understand through words alone, but in a way The Old Theatre was a lot like the Roost today. A safe place for the unfortunate.”

Bokuto blinked, picking up the pace to walk by Yamiji’s side. “Then Konoha and Onaga-?”

“I think you’d best to talk them yourselves.” He suggested, watching as the theatre came into view. Much like the rest of the street The Old Theatre was in a sorry state, caked in grime and moss. The posters of its final production were tattered and stained, and shards of broken bottles littered the ground below. 

In all honesty Bokuto didn’t think this was the right place, given how the windows were also barred with wooden planks, but when Akaashi pointed to the entrance he changed his mind. Then he laughed. 

On the ground, in two neat little piles, there sat a bundle of boards and nails. The grand ebony doors showed no signs of being forced, meaning that whoever was inside had taken the time to remove the planks properly. Respectfully. Only a handful of people would have gone to such lengths for an abandoned venue, and even fewer would have carried a hammer to do so in the first place.


	27. Plaster

 

Bokuto loved surprises.

From Kenma’s letter to Yamiji’s strange city map, every turn off the linear path gave him a buzz of energy, a sense of purpose. Back East the adults preferred a routine, but that was just like them. Boring. Repetitive. All of the things Bokuto did not wish to become.

When they nagged him to dye his hair, he styled it sky high with pride. He spoke loud when they demanded hush, and travelled halfway across the world when they suggested he find a proper job and a wife. From there he wound up in Morne, where he eventually met Kuroo. Strict, sensible, stick-up-his-arse-Tetsurou who said _no means no,_ and _don’t drink from random bottles you find on the street._

Kuroo was just like those adults at first, but in time he learned. He indulged Bokuto’s need to jump in every puddle down the street, and would follow him to the park on cold autumn afternoons, to collect chestnuts beneath the trees. After that they would spend the night by the fireplace, cursing and laughing as they peeled the spiky shells. It was a painful, _stupid_ idea, but one of the many games they developed over time. A competition of who could find the most edible chestnuts, and go to bed with a half filled stomach.

Bokuto’s approach of _bigger means better,_ and knack for finding mouldy shells, meant that he often lost, but at least he had hope. Time and time again he tried, knowing that one day things might go right. That he might find some good in those rotten chestnut shells, in all the mess life seemed to throw his way, and even in the drab remains of The Old Theatre.

 

Yamiji, on the other hand, did not like surprises. He did not like the way Akaashi and Bokuto lingered about the theatre entrance, or the lavish black and gold path they revealed behind its doors. All that mattered to him was the journey ahead, and how they might gather up the rest of their troupe.

“Quickly now.” He called, marching fast through the entrance, and down the hallway. “We came to find the others, not sightsee.”

“But it’s quite nice.” Akaashi commented, admiring the sculpted ceiling as they followed after him. “Easier on the eyes than The Roost, at least.”

Bokuto sounded an ugly snort in amusement, but Yamiji did not humour his insight. Instead he simply picked up the pace, clacking his cane against the dark floorboards with each step.  

“A theatre is a theatre, whatever way you colour it.” He reasoned, then focused on a set of doors at the far end. “The foyer is just up ahead. From there we will locate the main stage, find the others and be on our way.”

“You mean leave, just like that?” Akaashi asked.

“Just like that.” Yamiji concluded, refusing to speak further on the matter. Before anyone had a chance to argue he made a bid for the foyer doors; slapped them open with the palm of his hand, and took confident strides into the room. If the theatre were like any other Nekomata had bribed him to enter, then he knew precisely where to go. The fastest route to the stage, the exit, even the bar. But then he recalled the mysterious air about Konoha and Onaga, and rightly feared the worst.

The foyer was nowhere to be seen. No ticket box, no cloakroom, no sign that they were inside a theatre at all. All they found was an open space with checkerboard floor tiles, and multiple doors on all four walls. Some made of metal, some of wood, and others hidden behind a curtain.

“What kind of trick is this?” Yamiji remarked, stopping in the centre of the foyer and turning on his heel.  

“Your guess is as good as mine. Either way, it sure doesn’t look like The Roost anymore.” Bokuto commented with a tone of surprise.

“Perhaps not,” Akaashi cut in, eyeing Yamiji for a moment. “But a theatre is a theatre... Or so we’ve been told. Maybe this interior style is common in the industry?”

Yamiji did not answer. A hermit like Akaashi would not know either way, nor would Yamiji’s pride allow him to confess that he had been outsmarted by a single room.

“The way to the stage is right here.” He said after a pause, and walked to a pair of doors resembling those they had just passed through. It seemed perfectly logical, until he yanked them apart and revealed a painting of a corridor. “... Or at least it should have been.”

Bokuto grinned. “Someone’s got a sense of humour.”

“And good painting skills.” Akaashi praised. “If only The Roost’s entrance were as creative.”

“D’you think Futakuchi would wanna’ make something like this?”

“If it means riling up the guests, yes.”

“True... And you know Aone does look like the sort of guy who’d enjoy painting-”

“Focus please, you two.” Yamiji interrupted, quickly moving onto the next door. “That was nothing more than a cheap illusion. By placing many doors in one area, the visitor is given the impression that the building has more rooms, and is therefore much larger than it actually is-”

“Well this one’s a painting too.” Bokuto piped up, jumping in to open the door himself. This time the door unveiled a scene of nymphs lazing about by a waterfall. “You sure this is normal for a theatre?”

“Of course.” Yamiji lied, stomping along and opening each door in turn. One by one they revealed more paintings; some of jesters and medieval castles, acrobats and demons shrouded in smoke. Another had the nerve to reveal a painting of a second door, whilst another was completely blacked out.

“It’s more like a puzzle, than a foyer.” Akaashi contemplated, watching Yamiji pace back and forth, trying the doors with little success. “Are you _certain_ this is the right theatre?”

“ _It has to be_.” Yamiji stressed, his patience wearing thin. “Nekomata told me so.”

“Nekomata?”

“I mentioned him earlier. He knows all about these places.”

“But so do you.” Akaashi replied warily. “At least, that’s the impression you’ve given. You said the owner of this theatre was a good-”

“A good man, yes. Probably was, given how carefree your two friends are.”

“Then you don’t know for sure?”

“I’m just telling you what I know!” Yamiji snapped harder than necessary, then quickly turned his back in shame. In a matter of seconds he had proven himself a fraud. That he knew absolutely nothing of The Old Theatre, what it was, who ran it. The silly map he prided himself upon was not the result of an all nighter and genius, but the intel of another man altogether. A man who took great joy in stitching Yamiji over.

As much as Akaashi wanted to praise Nekomata for his feat, he knew better than to rub salt in the wound. Instead he turned his attention to Bokuto, whom for reasons best left unknown, had taken to stroking the walls. He felt the surfaces carefully, from the uneven paint to the splintering door frames, until he stopped at a point in the corner of the room. It was hard to see at first, but with some effort he found a small metal indent, a makeshift handle which he hooked his fingers inside, and gave an almighty tug.  

“Be careful.” Akaashi hissed when the wall itself began to shift. “We’ve caused enough financial ruin for one day.”

“Trust me, I know what I'm doing.” Bokuto replied with conviction. To prove a point he continued his investigation, pulling and pulling until half of the wall swung outwards with an ugly creak.

“You idiot-!”

“You _genius_.” Yamiji corrected. Albeit reckless, Bokuto’s determination had exposed the genuine path forward. A path with lighting, floorboards, and promise that they would not be confined to the foyer all afternoon. “To think, the wall itself was a door.”

“So does that mean we’re going on?” Bokuto asked eagerly.

“I don’t see any other choice.” Yamiji surrendered, following Bokuto and Akaashi through the passage.

 

 Despite lacking a sense of direction Bokuto chose to lead the group, bounding down the corridor until they arrived at a passage completely lined with mirrors. Not the sort he could use to fix his hair, but ones which distorted their bodies in weird and wonderful ways. From squishing to stretching, to one which merged all three reflections into a horrifying blur of grey hair and limbs. At the very least it gave them a few laughs, save for one mirror which caused Bokuto to gasp, and jab his finger to the glass.

“I’m gone!”

“So you are.” Akaashi agreed without a care, staring at the mirror. In fact there were no reflections at all. “I wonder what this means.”

“It means we’ve become vampires.”

“Do be serious.”

“I am!” Bokuto replied, desperation clear in his voice. “Kuroo told me all about those things!”

“Kuroo’s told you a load of nonsense.”

“Did not. He said they like blood.”

“And do _you_?” Akaashi stressed. “Because I certainly don’t!”

“But I like meat, and that’s got blood!”

“Pardon the intrusion.” Yamiji butted in with a sigh. “But as far as I’m aware you prefer your meat charred.”

“That’s not-” Bokuto clenched his jaw. The old man was nosier than any of them gave him credit for.

“I presume you know of the incident.” Akaashi addressed Yamiji with raised brows. “Sometimes I can still see Washio’s face that night…  Just awful.”

“It wasn’t that bad!” Bokuto protested.

It was terrible, Akaashi recalled with a grimace. Washio was a perfectly good chef, probably the best of all the group, and yet Bokuto had the nerve to send back his meal and demand he cook it longer. Quite frankly it was insulting, and to make matters worse the end result was near on inedible. A darkened, crumbling mess which Komi rightly described as something the devil might shit on a plate.

Whether his actions bothered Washio or not, Bokuto’s stupidity created a horrible tension lasting all through the night, and the following couple of days. During that time Konoha joked of Bokuto’s impending demise, which spiralled into certain people placing bets on where, and how, the man would meet his end.  

“... I think it’s time to move on.” Yamiji suggested, leading them to the next door before they lost track altogether. As suspected the next hallway was equally strange, only instead of mirrors the entire space was plastered in playing cards. From the art styles to the sizes, each card was unique, and the sheer volume alone was impressive enough.

_“D’you think they’ll notice if I take one home?”_

_“Don’t be stupid!”_

Yamiji’s eyes rolled when the bickering commenced, but he let it slide to admire his surroundings. Some of the cards had darkened ring stains over them, souvenirs from various pub visits no doubt, whilst others had signatures scrawled over their surface. It made him think back on his younger days, of meet ups in the local bar with Nekomata and Ukai. Of all their songs and stories, and how they would gamble the night away.

“This place is clever.” He commented aloud, walking towards a door disguised as a giant playing card. The theatre was witty, fun, and pleasantly nostalgic, but such matters had to wait. One foot in front of the other Yamiji pushed on, opened the door, and entered a room that swiftly made everything -foyer included- appear quite ordinary.

 

Where there should have been floorboards they saw white plaster, painted to mimic the sculpted ceiling of the theatre entrance. Three glass chandeliers protruded from the floor in a neat line, whilst up above they found tables and chairs stuck to the dark wood ceiling. Some of them had food and glasses attached, which made Bokuto stoop his head with caution, and his stomach ripple with unease. The entire room was upside down, curtains and all, and the only obvious means of getting out was through a small wooden door, up high on the western wall.

“... It’s as if we’ve entered another world.” Akaashi uttered, avoiding the chandeliers as he moved through the room. “First those strange doors, the trick mirrors, and all those cards...”

“It’s remarkable.” Yamiji agreed.

“Kinda’ like that book!” Bokuto gasped. “You know- the one with that girl who falls down the rabbit hole and ends up in a strange place.”

“Underland?” said Akaashi.

“Nah, Wanderland.”

“You’re both wrong, but no use arguing over a name.” Yamiji stated, gesturing for Bokuto to walk on by his side. “It’s a tragic story, when you think about it.”

“But the girl was able to go home, like she wanted. What kinda’ tragedy is that?”

“She was a _child_.” Yamiji stressed, his pleasant mood taking a swift turn for the worse. “A little girl who had no grasp of society. No understanding that beyond her cosy house there was nothing but crime, disease and the unfortunate reality that in a matter of years she’d be married off to some stuck up prick with more money than humanity-” Yamiji took a moment to breath, unaware of how harsh his voice became. “The moment she dare talk about that world she’d be considered a lunatic, and sent away by her family. What kind of life is that?”

Bokuto fumbled to find his words, taken aback by the abrupt rant. “I-I dunno... I mean it’s bad. But it’s just a book.-”

“You’re right.” Yamiji sighed, rubbing at his face with a palm. “Apologies, I got carried away.”

“We all have our moments.” Bokuto shrugged. “Point is… are you saying this theatre, and that world, are the same?”

“Something like that.” Yamiji declared, turning his gaze to the upper walls. “Compared to the city, even your Roost, this theatre is quite surreal... I don’t know how anyone would cope in society after living here for so long.”

“I hadn’t thought of it like that.” Bokuto replied in a low voice. “Konoha and Onaga musta found it hard to settle down elsewhere, move on and all that.”

“Maybe, maybe not.”  Yamiji mused. “Only our audience can say for certain.”

“Hm?”

Yamiji nodded to the little door above. Sometime during their conversation it had opened partway, revealing a crouching, cramped looking Onaga. Judging by his sheepish smile he had overheard far more than intended, but so long as he was safe Yamiji did not care either way.  

“Good of you to join us.” Yamiji said, a genuine smile on his face. “Are you alright up there?”

“Oh yes. Just fine.” Onaga lied.

“You look kinda’ stuck.” Bokuto added.

“I can move, sort of.” Onaga cracked a laugh, and shifted about to get comfortable. “Last time I was in here I was about 16 years old. Guess I grew a bit since then.”

“That goes without saying.” Akaashi sighed, watching Onaga tuck and fold his limbs like an amateur contortionist. “I don’t suppose you bumped into the others on your travels?”

“Of course, they’re all here.”

“Then let’s go!” Bokuto cheered. “Show us the way!”

“Well, about that.” Onaga hesitated, peering out from under his arm. “... How good are you at climbing?”

The group fell silent. With a bit of effort Bokuto and Akaashi could make the distance, but as for Yamiji… he needed to be at least ten years younger, and half the grumpy bastard, before he could so much as sneeze that far.

“I’m joking.” Onaga called out after a while, genuinely pleased with his lie. Without further ado he then reached back, dragged out a thin ladder and lowered it to the ground. “Sometimes the answers in this place aren’t down to trick walls or glass.”

“Perhaps not. But it’ll drive a man insane all the same.” Yamiji droned.

“I like to think it’s different. _Traditional with a twist_ , our Master used to say.”

“Yes well your master-”

“I think it’s fascinating. We all do.” Akaashi stressed, nipping the complaint in the bud. He let Bokuto fly up the ladder first, followed by Yamiji, and once all three were inside Onaga turned the other way, and shuffled on.

A bit of insight would have helped, but in his eagerness to escape Onaga kept quiet, moving fast until he reached a hole at the very end of the tunnel. Awaiting them on the other side was the heart of the theatre, a mash of looping ropes and planks Bokuto associated with the backstage of the Dome, and their beloved rafters. It was the most ordinary sight so far, and yet something about the place sent their nerves awry.

The air itself was thick, clogged with dirt and a musty scent. The lighting was equally poor, so no matter how hard they squinted there was no telling how high the room went, or just what lurked above their heads.

“Nice, isn’t it?” Onaga asked, as if oblivious to their murky surroundings. “This is where it all happened. Where I worked, where I lived.”

Bokuto gave an awkward shrug, trying to remain calm when a bump sounded in the distance. “It’s… it’s great. Interesting.”

“Obviously I didn’t live out _here_. It got too cold.” Onaga elaborated. “But on my days off I’d sit up in the rafters and watch the evening shows.”

“Sounds pleasant.” Akaashi joined in, eyeing Yamiji and Bokuto in turn. Judging by the strained wrinkling of their foreheads, they had come to the same conclusion. The very moment they entered the backstage area, the apologetic, timid Onaga was nowhere to be found. Replaced by a man freely rambling about mechanics and rope pulleys, of days he had kept private until that instant.

“Whatever you’re thinking, don’t worry about it.” Onaga soon spoke with that familiar, gentle air to his voice. The Onaga they recognised. “There’s no point being secretive when you’re already so far into the theatre.”

“We could go wait outside until you’re ready.” Akaashi suggested. “I mean, we did come in without permission.”

Onaga shook his head firmly. “There’s no need, honestly. I’m fine with it.”

“And what of your friend?” Yamiji interrupted in a stern tone. “Would he be fine with us barging in?”

“Ah…”

Akaashi and Bokuto paled. They had completely forgotten about Konoha, and so had Onaga if his face was anything to go by.

“... There’s only one way to find out.” Onaga supposed, filling them with little confidence.

 

An unmistakable laugh resounded when Onaga drew back the curtains of the dressing room, and lead Yamiji, Bokuto and Akaashi inside. All around them great lengths of fabric draped over crates and moth eaten furniture. Empty wine bottles served as makeshift candle holders, whilst chests and rails covered the walls, bursting with costumes. Amongst the chaos of feathers, lace and dust sat a long mirror and dressing table, and an old leather chair which Konoha slouched in with a satisfied smirk. At the very least he seemed pleased, but it did not stop Bokuto from worrying, and attempting to use Onaga as a shield.

“For a moment I thought you’d gotten lost.” Konoha teased. “But it seems you found something instead. Where were they?”

“The upturned room.” Onaga answered, peering at Bokuto from over his shoulder every now and then.

“That’s quite far.” Konoha praised. “Did they figure it out?”

“Nah, I gave myself away before they could.” Onaga confessed. “Thought I’d bring them through since they’re here.”

“You’re too kind.” Konoha sighed, rummaging through a small jewellery box on the table. “Though what I should _really_ be asking is how you lot got here in the first place.”

“Intuition...?” Akaashi replied with uncertainty.

“And luck. Sorta’.” Bokuto piped up.

“Someone tipped you off.” Konoha figured, plucking a coin from the box and pointing it towards Yamiji in particular. “But no matter, curiosity gets the better of us all.”

“Did curiosity bring you here?” Yamiji asked.

“No.” Konoha stated bluntly, setting the coin on the table with a clack. “It was a pickpocket, actually.”

_“You were robbed?”_

“Kids are smarter than we give them credit for.” Konoha announced, revealing no more on the matter as he rose from his seat. A brief tilt of his head summoned Onaga over to his side, and with another he signalled for the group to follow.

 

Beyond the dressing room very little changed. Props and clothing hung on every beam, every door and every wall they passed through. Judging by the cluttered state of the halls, and the smaller dressing rooms subsequent, no one had been given time to prepare for the theatre’s closure, and all remained as it was many years ago.

“Looks like you had a lot of people here.” Akaashi observed calmly, looking back at the previous room. “Multiple shows too, I imagine.”

“Enough to keep us all fed and warm.” Onaga recalled proudly.

“Didn’t stop the bugs getting in though.” Konoha scoffed, batting a tattered curtain aside so they could enter the next room. “But it was a damn sight warmer than the Dorms, that’s for sure. I reckon Sugawara and Daichi should spend more money on our accommodation, and less on imported goods.”

“You should tell them that.”

“Hell no.” Konoha cracked a genuine laugh, and nudged Onaga in his side. After his remark the pair continued to mutter amongst themselves, which albeit rude, went on undisturbed. They wandered on until a set of stairs came into sight, but ignored them to march down a small trail on the left, to a door directly beneath the stairs.

“I believe the stage is up that way.” Yamiji hinted towards the staircase. “Might we go there instead and keep this trip brief?”

“Patience.” Konoha mocked, gripping the door handle. “This is the last detour, promise.”

“Is it another dressing room?”

“Perhaps.”

Yamiji’s eyes went to his pocket watch, but he said no more. He listened to their footsteps eagerly  pounding through the door, and the hums and aahs in fascination from Bokuto, before Konoha’s ugly screech cut through the air, and silenced the lot.

_“What on earth are you three doing?!”_

Yamiji figured that was his cue to enter the room, and almost stumbled when he saw the remainder of the group. What should have been an impressive reveal was completely ruined by the sight of Washio and the usual suspects, who appeared to have set up a show. A strange display of military dress, swords and the unspoken rule that each man had wear a wig. They greeted their companions and as if nothing was out of place, and sent curt nods Yamiji’s way when he chose to join the crowd at last.

“We were having a battle.” Washio eventually answered, moving a strand of long dark hair from his face. Shortly after he gestured to Komi, who had picked an ensemble scarily alike to Konoha’s. Hair included. “He reckons he’ll beat me.”

“You were supposed to be keeping these two out of trouble.” Konoha scolded, then attempted to swipe Komi’s wig from his head. “And blond doesn’t suit you!”

“Told you so.” Sarukui piped up from the nearby stool. In one hand he held a tattered script, whilst the other tugged and played with the long dark curls of his own wig. “Anyway, we were almost done with this scene, can we continue?”

“No you cannot-”

“Is it a fight to the death?” Bokuto exclaimed. “Do you want extra characters?”

“We could lay on the ground and pretend to be dead.” Akaashi suggested in all seriousness. “Assuming its a wide scale battle.”

“The scripts says its supposed to be a one on one thing.” Sarukui replied. “It looks quite fun. Lots of drama and fighting-”

“Something tells me you skipped the beginning.” Konoha deadpanned, scanning the script from over Sarukui’s shoulder. “The three characters spend most their time having drunken sex before things fall apart, and two of them fight to claim the third lover.”

“Oh. You seem to know the plot well.”

“I read it once.” Konoha laughed, gently prying the papers from Sarukui’s hand. “This belonged to our Master. He liked to collect scripts in his own time.”

“It’s not one of your shows then?” Yamiji hoped.

“Of course not.” Konoha turned up his nose at the idea. “This isn’t a playhouse.”

 

The room stilled. Yamiji scanned the crowd for a clue, a hint as to what was going on, but everyone save for Onaga and Konoha were stumped, trying to piece the situation together.

“That doesn’t make sense.” Akaashi began. “You always gave the impression you were involved in plays. I mean at least I thought-”

“You quoted a huge speech in the bath the other night.” Bokuto interrupted, recalling how long he had waited for his own turn in the bathroom. “Then there’s your love for costumes... even the way you act is kinda’... what’s the word?”

“No one finish that.” Konoha snapped, watching several mouths press shut. “If you really must know, Onaga and I worked backstage. Myself in costuming, and he in stage setup.”

“That doesn’t really answer the question.”

“Then maybe this will.” Onaga suggested, gathering the group over by the dressing table. Given the messy state of the previous rooms no one had paid it any mind, but every inch of the wall surrounding the mirror was covered in posters and photographs. There were many newspaper articles too, but Onaga’s interest stayed with a large group photograph above the centre of the mirror. “That lot there was our main performance group, a mixture of acrobats and dancers.”

“Just like the Crows.” Akaashi pondered. “Only, much bigger.”

“ _Bigger?_ It’s like you’ve got the entire crew on stage!” Bokuto laughed.

“You’re not wrong.” Onaga agreed. “Anyone fit enough to perform was trained in their routines, us two included. That way if people were sick or needed time off, it didn’t matter.”

“Huh. That’s kinda’ clever.”

“Sounds like a lot of work.” Washio countered.

“Not really, we had plenty of time off.” Onaga said. “Any gaps in the schedule were filled by visiting troupes who rented our stage. It was them who performed the plays.”

“And left all their crap behind.” Konoha scorned. That explained why there was so much clutter, but it didn’t justify the volume of questionable props. On that note Washio produced his sword from earlier, setting it upon the table with a dull thunk.

“This sword is real. Seems dangerous, having these around where strangers could find them.”

“This room was always locked.” Konoha murmured. “Everything in here belonged to our Master. The swords included.”

Satisfied, Washio nodded and returned his attention to the photographs. Now that he took the time to look properly, one man appeared numerous times. Sometimes in fine suits upon the stage, and other times in scruffy overalls with what appeared to be the backstage crew.

“His name is Silas Hale.” Onaga picked up the story where Konoha wouldn’t, addressing his audience with a calm voice. “Businessman, boss and magician.”

Yamiji’s face turned sour. “ _Magician_ …?”  

“Yeah.” Onaga confirmed. “I thought it might have been obvious.”

“That…” Yamiji stopped himself fast. Thinking back, the previous rooms _were_ a massive hint towards Hale’s profession, but the news still hit like one of Nekomata’s homemade cocktails, and left him with the same numbing throb in his head.

Magicians were the masters of surprise and trickery. An act that depended on a naive crowd, and a team out back making sure the trick went right. The one and only time Yamiji had seen a show was several years back, and lasted ten minutes before Yamiji could stomach the magician’s facade no longer, and stormed off to the nearby pub.

For all he knew, Hale might have been a respectable magician, but still Yamiji’s doubts stuck firm. Much firmer at least than those of his students -whatever they were to him-, who gathered around Konoha and Onaga with wide eyes and plenty of questions.

“Could he cut a man in half?!” Bokuto squawked with Komi grinning by his side. “Could he cut _us_ half if we met him?!”

“I don’t think you’d want that.” Konoha grimaced.

“And he always preferred levitation, over decapitation.” Onaga laughed. “There’s a couple of photos of his shows on the wall actually. One over there, see- he’s doing the rabbit out of the hat trick. And here’s one where he made an entire dinner table disappear.”

“Didn’t the Plants group do that once?” Sarukui chuckled.

“They destroyed it.” Washio corrected, smiling when Sarukui disapprovingly mumbled something about wasted materials. He watched Komi and Bokuto fondly as they pestered Konoha over macabre tricks, but felt a small twinge of unease when he laid eyes on Akaashi.

Even after two years, he could not gauge Akaashi’s mood. Whether he was genuinely happy, or being polite. Judging by the way he closed in Washio figured he was intrigued by the photos, but when Akaashi’s eyes narrowed fierce it became clear that he was searching, rather than observing. Something in those black and white stills had caught his interest, captivated him more than anything colourful, _alive._

“Who’s the girl…?”

Onaga inhaled sharp, wondering if he misheard Akaashi’s question. The grim look on Konoha’s face said otherwise however, and in a single moment the mood shifted. Even Yamiji’s interest had piqued by that point, and brought him over to inspect the wall for himself. Sure enough a girl was there in the pictures; a petite, long haired thing often holding a prop for Hale, or bowing with him to the audience.

“That’s Frieda Hale, Silas’s daughter.” Konoha smiled wryly, and set a fingertip to a blurred image of the girl. “This was taken during her first stage appearance, shortly after Onaga and I joined the theatre.”

“But should she even be on the stage? I mean, she’s seems kinda’ young there.” Komi said, worry evident across his features. Despite his concern Konoha gave a carefree shrug, and continued to stare at the photograph.

“She was nine, same age as myself at the time.”

“ _Nine?_ ”

“We’ve been in Vol for quite a while.” Onaga intervened, smiling. “You know, Hale thought it was fate that he found us two. We were the right age to befriend his daughter, so he had us raised together. He gave us all an education, and a job, to prepare us for the future.”

“You sound incredibly close.” Yamiji pried.

“Together right up until the end.” Konoha recalled, a mixture of sadness and admiration in his voice. “She meant a lot to us. Still does.”

“She must be with her father, surely?”

“Perhaps.” Konoha uttered, fixated upon one of the more recent photographs. When Freida and her father were much older, but still exceptional at their work. The image itself was as shoddy as the rest, conveying only a hint of her smile, two blurs for eyes, and the long dark waves of her hair. “Onaga and I left just before the theatre closed, and she’s been missing ever since. Only her father was mentioned in the papers.”

Yamiji dropped his questioning altogether. Whatever their relationship was, or had been, was none of his concern. Akaashi meanwhile clutched his sleeve tight with worry, having regretted bringing the topic up, and even Komi knew better than to tease them over their potential love interest. Out of instinct however he turned to Washio, but the man’s stoney front held firm. Unyielding.

“I think we’re about done with our tour.” Onaga announced. “Perhaps we should get on with our plans for today…?”

“An excellent plan.” Yamiji agreed, then looked to Washio and his misfits in dismay. “But leave the costumes here, please.”

  


An almighty bang rocked The Roost’s main kitchen.

The culprit, Hanamaki, pulled back with a devilish grin, and curled his fist a tight ball. That last hit was hard, strong enough to make the table scrape against the floor, and leave an impressive mark. It gave him a good feeling too, a powerful one which boiled in his veins, and had him raring to deliver another blow.

“I think that’s enough.” Matsukawa grunted from the safety of his chair, placed a long way back for good measure. Upon the table’s surface sat a flesh coloured mess, a joint of meat which might have made a good meal, before Hanamaki got his hands on it.

“I’m surprised it’s lasted so long.” Hanamaki confessed, prodding and poking at the dent he made in its skin. “D’you think this is helping?”

“Well I’d rather you stopped touching it.”

“I meant the results.” Hanamaki shot back, poking out his tongue. “You wanna’ know how  Shittyshima got injured, right?”

Matsukawa grunted -his way of agreement- and got up to examine the meat.

“You’ve certainly eliminated the ‘falling down the stairs’ theory.” He grumbled, glancing towards the stairs leading to the cellar. Hanamaki had taken great pleasure in tossing it down there earlier on, cursing Sakijima’s name all the while, and yet none of the marks upon its surface reflected the mess on the lunatic’s back. “That said, your punches aren’t much better... The wounds we’re after are straight. Precise.”

“Unlike us.”

“Takahiro, this isn’t a joke.”

“Oh relax, will you?” Hanamaki jeered. “The guy probably got the hell kicked out of him, that’s all.”

“But the marks are only on his back.” Matsukawa reasoned. “That means-!”

“That means absolutely nothing.” Hanamaki’s expression darkened, and his voice lowered. “You and I, and a handful of others, know that argument is worth shit. Or have you forgotten-”

“Of course I haven’t!” Matsukawa snapped, and jabbed the meat hard with the edge of his clipboard.  Intentional or not, it had dug in deeper than planned, and when he pulled it back it left a prominent line. A definite, clean mark.

“Well, would you look at that.” Hanamaki deadpanned. “Your little mood swing just helped us make progress.”

“ _Don’t_ -”

“I know, I know.” Hanamaki waved a hand back and forth in surrender. “My fault. I shouldn’t have brought that up.”

Matsukawa directed his glare to the meat, ashamed to have lost his temper, even a bit. That said, Hanamaki was right about the mark. Although it was not the exact wound he needed, it was definitely closer to the truth.

“We’re back to the blunt object theory then.” He surmised in a flat tone, making a note of it on his papers. “The back of a blade, perhaps.”

Hanamaki winced. “You serious?”

“Of course. It makes sense.”

“Like hell it does.” Hanamaki remarked. “No sane man, or woman, would approach that prick with the dull end of a knife. Not if they wanted to live.”

Matsukawa’s brow creased harsh. “True… And come to think of it, most passenger ships ban weapons nowadays.”

“Which takes us right back to the start, with the goddamn stairs theory.”

“Not necessarily.” Matsukawa objected. “If we look at it differently, we can figure it out.”

“Oh yeah?” Hanamaki doubted that much. “How so?”

“We could think bigger. Assume that Sakijima was hurt somewhere else other than the ship.”

Hanamaki eyes grew wide.

“You what…?”

“The timing of the wounds isn’t right.” Matsukawa mumbled, and tapped his pencil to his clipboard. “Nor is his arrival here. I know the Snake lot wrote asking for jobs, but that doesn’t mean they got to The Roost right after leaving the ship-”

“Hold up. The rest of them seem kinda’ friendly.” Hanamaki countered. “Just because one of them’s a madman doesn’t mean they’re all suspicious.”

“I’m not saying that.”

“Then what?”

Matsukawa held up his hands in defeat. “Couldn’t say. It’s just a feeling in my gut.”

_“It’s a good feeling to have, if you ask me.”_

“I thought you locked the door.” Matsukawa whispered, watching Hanamaki’s jaw drop, and his head bob up and down. He was certain they had locked it, and yet the faint clap of shoes drew near. Closer and closer until their intruder showed his face, half hidden beneath a mass of unruly hair.

“Fancy meeting you both here.”

Matsukawa sighed, and straightened up. “You trying to steal from the kitchen, Kuroo?”

“I’m not here for food.” Kuroo replied, and slapped a pile of books onto the next available table. “A man needs a quiet place to think.”

“ _You_ look like you need a stiff drink, and a cuddle in the local cat house.” Hanamaki mocked, taking in Kuroo’s unkempt appearance. The charcoal stains on the collar of his shirt, to the scuff marks on his elbows and trousers. “Or better yet a bath and sleep. If that’s how you prefer to relax.”

“One more smart comment and I’ll drown you in the sink.” Kuroo retorted, his threat considerably weaker compared to Sakijima’s. He brandished a box of cigarettes from his pocket shortly after, then tossed it across the table with a violent _fuck it all!_ upon finding it empty.

“Come now princess, what’s gotten you so upset?” Hanamaki crept over to Kuroo’s side, resting his elbows on the table with a wicked grin. “Honestly I think you need to take my advice. You really don’t look well.”

“Piss off.”

“This is our workplace.” Matsukawa stated matter of factly, pulling up a seat. “If you want peace I suggest you go elsewhere.”

“ _What I want-_ ” Kuroo hissed, then stopped himself. “What _I’m_ interested in, should I say, is what you two are doing, hovering over a joint of meat like it’s an experiment.”

“There’s no ‘like’ about it. It is an experiment.”

“You’ve beaten it to hell and back.” Kuroo remarked, eyeing the meat with concern. “But whatever, I hope you gained something from it.”

Hanamaki shrugged. “We had fun.”

“Indeed. Now back to you.” Matsukawa insisted, watching Kuroo sift through his books one by one. As if bored of their conversation already. “What were you on about when you showed up?”

“I would’ve thought that was obvious.” Kuroo sighed, nudging a small leather notebook to one side. “I know who you were on about. Those stuck up pricks have only just gotten here, and already they’re making demands as if they run the place.”

“Wouldn’t know about that.” Hanamaki replied in earnest, cocking a brow. “But that lot- Snakes or somethin’... they’re living with your guys, right?”

“Unfortunately, yes.” Kuroo muttered bitterly, deciding upon one of the thinner books in his pile. “Although at this rate they’ll be living in other people’s beds.”

Hanamaki grinned. “Well it is kinda’ cold-”

“Sounds like you have a grudge against them.” Matsukawa cut Hanamaki off fast, shaking his head in warning. The last thing they needed was another fight.

“... That’s irrelevant.” Kuroo said, slowly turning the pages of an open book.

 _Hardly_ , Matsukawa thought, but kept his lips sealed. Kuroo was displaying all the symptoms of an overtired, sensitive child, and there was no use arguing with that. Even if Matsukawa did have his doubts about the Snakes, it was far from the irrational hatred Kuroo seemed to hold towards them. Unless of course he too had been held at knifepoint, or somehow knew them before The Roost.

“Oi.” Hanamaki interrupted that thought with his usual crap timing, and nudged Kuroo’s book with a finger. “This a new script or something?”

“Its confidential business.” Kuroo pressed, slapping the book shut and pushing it aside. “I’m working alongside the detective.”

“Can’t be that confidential if you just told us.”

“The specifics aren’t your concern.” Kuroo huffed. “But that said, I would like your opinion on a few facts I’ve come across. You're doctors, aren’t you?”

“Amateur doctors.” Matsukawa corrected quickly. “We clean and wrap wounds, that’s it.”

“... Really?”

Something changed in Kuroo then, and a strange smile curled the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah Tanaka got a big splinter once.” Hanamaki laughed. “That was a beast to get out.”

“I’m not interested in that.”

“Huh?”

“Tell me about the bigger injuries.” Kuroo addressed Matsukawa directly this time, drumming his fingers against the last of his books. He sized the man up with a keen gaze as he waited, relishing in the hesitation, the way his shoulders shrunk. “... Or keep quiet, as usual. I know you don’t like discussing your work.”

Matsukawa shot him a glare. “It’s none of your business.”

“So true.” Kuroo mocked. “But it doesn’t take a genius to know you’re the main man behind it all.”

“The hell’s that mean?” Hanamaki hissed.

“I mean he’s the better doctor.” Kuroo continued, dismissing him with a roll of his eyes. “There’s a skilled family of surgeons back East who happen to share this guy’s name. If he’s one of theirs, I highly doubt he’s as novice as he claims.”

“Could be a coi-”

“I worked as an assistant, nothing more.” Matsukawa blurted. There was no use in lying when Kuroo was so well informed. “My mother, father, and my eldest cousin were the head surgeons.”

“That doesn’t quite add up with Sugawara’s reports, but sure.” Kuroo’s smile extended further, and darker for Matsukawa’s liking. “Lucky for you I’m not here to talk operations, just internal matters.”

“Organs?”

“The mind.” Kuroo tapped a fingertip to his temple. “I had hoped for a good discussion on it with someone else today, but they proved useless. What’s your take on it?”

Matsukawa rested his chin in his hand. He had never given it much thought, nor did he intend to. “D’you mean brain function, mental states or what?”

“Depends.”

“On what?”

To his frustration Kuroo remained silent, maintaining his creepy, know-it-all ways as he pushed the book towards Matsukawa. Between them both Hanamaki gawked and pulled hideous faces, wondering what the hell Kuroo was playing at.

“As much as you two piss me off, I do respect your skills.” Kuroo declared, then paused as if expecting thanks for his backhanded compliment. “So I’ll let you borrow this.”

“... Hmh.” Matsukawa stared at the book. Then blinked. “Sorry. I’m not interested in joining a book club.”

“Will you be serious for once?!” Kuroo snarled, rising from his seat to gather up the rest of his books. “I’m running an investigation, not a library! Read it and report to me on your findings.”

“Why?”

“Hold it right there-” Hanamaki wheezed mid laugh, taken aback. “There’s no way we’re getting wrapped up in your detective games!”

“Oh you will.” Kuroo insisted.

“Or what?”

Matsukawa flinched when the words left Hanamaki’s mouth. It shut Kuroo up for a moment, true, but in turn his glare hardened, and he moved in so close that Matsukawa could smell the cigarette smoke on his clothes, and a foul hint of ale on his breath.

“You will help me.” Kuroo began through gritted teeth. “Or face an interrogation with the detective. Your choice.”

“That almost sounded like a threat.” Hanamaki chuckled nervously, attempting to escape the stench. “Have we got time to think on it?”

“I’ll be back tomorrow.” Kuroo spat, quite literally, and pulled away from the table. “Wrap up your little experiment, then get to work.”

“But-”

To their relief Kuroo did not stay much longer. Matsukawa clapped a hand over his partner’s mouth to avoid further confrontation, and only when Kuroo stomped out the room for good did he remove it.

 

“That didn’t go well.”

“You’re telling me.” Hanamaki exclaimed, running a hand through his hair. “That’s the second threat we’ve gotten today!”

“Indeed. We’re making enemies fast.”

“And more work for ourselves.” Hanamaki sighed, glancing at the book. Sitting there before them it appeared quite sinister, despite its battered cover, and yellowing pages. “Y’know, I’m not a detective but… it’s got trap written all over it, Issei.”

“I’m aware.” Matsukawa answered, back to his dismissive, grunting self.

“Then what’re you going to do?”

Matsukawa stopped to think. Helping Kuroo sooner, rather than later, was the obvious plan, but not necessarily the most enjoyable. On the other hand, rebelling against Kuroo meant dealing with Detective Ukai. That man was a real, physical threat, with plenty of powers to silence both him and Hanamaki for good. 

“... I think we’ll do what he asks.”

“Are you serious?!” Hanamaki screeched. “C’mon, we’ve gotta’ do something-!”

“Well I’m gonna’ finish that.” Matsukawa announced, pointing to the sorry looking meat. “By which I mean pummel it repeatedly whilst pretending it’s Kuroo’s face.”

“I thought you wanted it for our investigation?”

“I did.” Matsukawa nodded. “But now I want it as my stress relief.”

“And when we’re done?” Hanamaki asked. “Are you gonna’ read the book?”

“Maybe.”

“ _Maybe_?”

“Yes, maybe.” Matsukawa eyes drifted to the floor, then he smiled. Tucked between the cracked stone tiles he noticed a single cigarette, which must have fallen out sometime during Kuroo’s hissy fit. All things considered it seemed rude to waste it, and since Kuroo was no longer about Matsukawa plucked it from the floor, and claimed it for his own.

  


**Author's Note:**

> \- Roost playlist: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PL_zFnOcZUM1ivezpUxQtVadJjed3ju152  
> Note: Neither the story nor the characters are strictly canon compliant. Names and appearances have been kept the same, but please be aware that ooc behaviour is likely part of the story and probably explained at a later point.
> 
> FYI author is British, not American. The story (albeit set in a make up city) is loosely based on the second wave of the British industrial revolution and the introduction of Japonism to Europe.


End file.
